


In the City of Bridges

by apollonious



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Bisexual Astrid Hofferson, Bisexual Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Smut, F/M, Masquerade, Minor Heather/Astrid Hofferson, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Women's Professional Soccer, absolutely nobody:, fake dating au, me: you all want a fake dating AU?, nobody:, other relationships as side plot, saturday is dragon day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-07 17:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21462139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonious/pseuds/apollonious
Summary: When Hiccup Haddock makes out with a random girl at a party, he does not expect much to come of it. The next day, he realizes his folly.
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Comments: 150
Kudos: 224





	1. The Party

Hiccup Haddock was going to die. He just knew it.

The events of the night before were swimming in and out of focus in time with the throbbing of his head as he and his father rolled across the city toward the stadium. He looked out the window at the rainy city streets and tried to breathe steadily through his nose. 

Glancing at the rearview mirror, Hiccup made eye contact with the driver, who was studying him with some concern. “There’s some ibuprofen in the armrest if you need it, sir,” the man said. 

With a muttered word of thanks, Hiccup popped open the armrest and took two of the ibuprofen, washing them down with the bottle of water the driver passed back to him. The cool water had an immediate effect, soothing his head a little, so he held onto it, nursing it for the rest of the drive.

His father was studying him with something less than concern. Stoick Haddock was a big man—he had well and truly earned the nickname “the Vast” in his youth—and the impatience in his eyes as they glared over his thick red beard would have intimidated Hiccup if he weren’t so used to it. Just from looking at the two of them, it would have been hard to guess at their relationship—Hiccup, though tall by any reasonable standard, was a full foot shorter than his father, and built along different lines. Skinny lines. And his hair was mundane, floppy brown rather than the fiery red of his father’s. 

Hiccup had always been a disappointment to his father, and one more hangover wasn’t likely to change that. Not that it would make it that much worse, either. 

Hiccup took another sip, looking his dad evenly in the eye, before Stoick finally spoke. 

“How do you think this is going to look to the girls?” Stoick demanded. “They were all at the party last night too, and I can guarantee you none of them are in this state, barely able to stand up straight and certainly not able to make a favorable first impression. They’re all working today. That’s what you need—work. One of these days…”

The pounding in Hiccup’s head ratcheted up, and he winced, taking another sip of water. As his father’s scolding carried on, the throbbing seemed to line up with the rhythm of Stoick’s words. The driver met his eyes in the mirror again, asking a silent question, and Hiccup shook his head just slightly. He would be damned if he threw up right now.

The “girls” his father referred to were the women who played on the soccer team Stoick owned, the Valkyries. They would certainly be working today; indeed, they probably already were, as it was the first day of their training camp.

And the thing was, Hiccup had tried to get involved in the team. The trouble was that none of the ways he had tried to do so were what his father had in mind. He’d tried promoting the team through his own social media, but that was unsatisfactory because of what else was on his social media; he had tried to help the office staff, but that was best left to the experts; he had tried to act as an assistant to the coach, as he’d sometimes done during the summers while he was at school—not doing any coaching, of course, just carrying things and taking notes—but carrying bags and taking notes was not acceptable work for the grown son of the team’s owner. He’d even tried, at the beginning of last season, to be the team’s water boy, but that had lasted all of five minutes before his father came striding onto the field. 

What his father wanted was for him to have a shallow degree of involvement with every facet of the team, to maintain an affable if superior relationship with everyone from the head coach to the stadium’s janitors, and to present a respectable, reasonably charismatic face to the public—in short, to be his father.

But even if there were room for more than one of his father in the team’s organization, that wasn’t what Hiccup was suited to. He had an engineering degree, but after he’s graduated Stoick had balked at Hiccup doing something not directly related to the team. He wanted the next owner to be lined up when he retired, though Hiccup figured—Hiccup hoped—that was still decades off.

“You’ve got to take responsibility,” Stoick finished as the car pulled up to the curb outside the stadium. When Hiccup didn’t reply, he demanded, “Do you hear me, son?”

“I hear you, Dad,” said Hiccup wearily. After a moment’s consideration, he tucked the little bottle of ibuprofen into the pocket of his jacket. Somewhere between putting on his suit that morning and arriving at the stadium, he’d managed to get his shirt rumpled. He got out of the car, trying to tug it straight, and only partially succeeded.

This was as good as it was going to get.

Water bottle in hand, he followed his father into the stadium. The cold air was making his head feel better, but as always it made his left knee ache, as well as the stump a few inches lower, where his leg joined his prosthetic. 

It would warm up soon; already the rain was letting up. 

The first stop was at the admin office, where Stoick loudly said hello to everyone, shaking hands, and Hiccup, a smile set on his face, gave nods of acknowledgment.

Then they went on to the field, and it was here, as the eleven “girls” came jogging off the pitch as the coach (Hiccup had only ever known him as Gobber, but surely that couldn’t be his real name) blew his whistle, that Hiccup realized what his fate would be. 

The women, in accordance with first-day tradition, were all wearing the standard-issue practice uniform the team had issued them. They could wear whatever they wanted to train, of course, but as long as Hiccup could remember, the team had suited up on the first day, just as he and his father did. The retractable roof over the pitch was shut, shielding the players from the rain. They all wore black shorts and socks, and steel-blue practice jerseys with the double-bladed battleaxe that was the team’s insignia centered on their chests. As they stepped off the pitch, they were each greeted with a hearty handshake from Stoick, followed by a rather more subdued one from Hiccup, a step behind him.

It was the final woman who made Hiccup’s heart begin to pound, and not in a good way. She was several inches shorter than him, with long blonde hair tied back in a thick braid and eyes that matched her practice jersey to perfection. She was a midfielder they had somehow managed to get in the first round of the draft, who had drawn an almost unheard-of amount of attention to her college team. Her name was Astrid Hofferson. Hiccup recognized her, of course, from watching her lead her team to victory over and over—but he also recognized the way her steel-blue eyes flashed as one of her teammates pushed ahead of her almost unnoticeably, the curve of her lips, and—his heart was pounding so hard he was almost surprised his father didn’t turn around to give him a quizzical look at the sound of it—a blue-purple mark at the base of her neck that was not quite obscured by the strap of her sports bra or the collar of her practice journey.

Even as he shook her hand, trying to smile, he was frozen in place. He knew he was staring, helpless as he was to stop it, and could only hope his panic didn’t show on his face.

Hiccup Haddock had met his doom.

* * *

When Astrid arrives at the party, she can hear the music from the curb. She thanks her rideshare driver and takes a deep breath, straightening her silver domino mask. As she blinks, she can feel her eyelashes brushing the eyeholes of the mask, and thinks again of how rarely she wears makeup.

The silver of her mask is also in the lining of her skirt, which flows from the thigh-high slit as she walks. The dress itself is vibrant turquoise, with one braided shoulder strap. It clings to her chest, waist, and hips before flowing almost to the floor. On her feet are glittery silver heels. It’s not a professional outfit, but neither is this a strictly professional event. If someone asked her what she expected at her first pro soccer team, she would certainly not have said a masquerade ball in a downtown art gallery. All the same, it seems fun, innocent enough, and socially speaking, she cannot afford to miss it.

With that thought, she walks up the steps to the front entrance of the gallery. She gives her name to the man at the door, and he opens it for her, waving her through with a murmured, “Enjoy your evening.”

The party is already in full swing when she walks in. There is a table with a DJ, and another with two bored-looking servers who are pouring glasses of champagne. People are milling around, walking in groups, pairs, and the occasional lone person wandering the galleries.

She goes for the champagne first. “Thanks,” she says with a grin, her glossy lips parting over her white teeth. The server almost smiles in response. 

As she turns from the champagne table, she sees a man standing across the room, looking at her. She guesses that, in her heels, they would be of a height. He is dressed in all black, with lapels, tie, and mask made of a fabric that seems to shift colors from black to red to deep cobalt blue as he shifts position. His hair is slicked back from his forehead. Not an athlete, she thinks—too skinny for that. There are plenty of people here who aren’t athletes, of course.

When he sees her looking, he doesn’t look away, instead taking a sip of his champagne. She smiles at him, going for friendly rather than inviting, though she isn’t sure how successful she is on that front. 

She feels like it ought to take her longer to make the rounds of her teammates, but they aren’t terribly receptive to her attempts at socializing. She is one of only three new players this season, and she is by far the most ambitious—and the best paid—of the newcomers. The other two girls, one a little older than her, the other a graduate from a state school back east, seem to have assimilated easily enough—she sees one of them laughing with the team captain—but, as ambitious upstarts are so prone to do with established figures in their field, Astrid seems to have sparked a certain degree of resentment. She isn’t sure if her teammates are actively aware of it, but she certainly is.

And she gets it. She’s always been ambitious, as long as she can remember. More than any of the people she grew up around, she’s always pushed herself to be stronger, faster, _better_—making it a point to improve every single day. In school, this extended to academics as well as sports, and although she does have friends, her intensity makes it so that plenty of people find her insufferable. 

Astrid slowly migrates out from the main group of the party, walking down the halls of the gallery. She deposits her empty champagne flute on a table littered with others. She finds a back stairway and climbs it, finding herself in a gallery that opens up on the party below. The edge, some thirty feet away, is blocked off by a pane of plexiglass. Though she can hear the music playing, she can’t see any of the people, nor can they see her. She walks along the wall opposite the overlook, stopping to look at a piece that catches her eye. She knows she’s seen it before, in a book rather than in real life, but she can’t quite place the name of the artist. The text on the little placard isn’t legible in the dim mood lighting that has replaced the gallery’s usual lights for the evening. The picture shows three staircases, arranged in a triangle surrounded by doorways and walls, with figures walking down the stairs. It kind of messes with her head, and she stands there for a while, head tilted to one side, looking at it.

“Do you like Escher?” says a voice close beside her, and she jumps, looking around. It’s the man from earlier, the one dressed in black. He’s standing maybe a yard away from her, holding a glass of champagne in each hand.

“Oh, that’s who it is!” she exclaims. “I couldn’t think of it.”

“I always loved his tessellations,” the man says. “I did one with dragons while I was at college.”

“What’s a tessellation?” Astrid asks.

“On a basic level, it’s just a repeating pattern of geometric shapes, but he does really cool things where the shapes transform as you move across the art. Like, you know that picture of the fish turning into birds?”

She nods with vague recognition. “Oh, cool.”

He smiles, offering her one of the glasses of champagne. “You looked like you might be thirsty.” She takes it, but doesn’t drink when he takes a sip. She doesn’t think it’s likely he put anything in it, but better safe than sorry.

“Oh, sorry, do you want to trade?” He wipes the edge of his glass, where his bottom lip left a small mark, with his thumb. The movement draws her eye, and she feels herself blush slightly beneath her mask. He holds out the glass he’s already sipped from.

“That’s okay,” she says, smiling and finally taking a sip.

“Do you want to hear more about tessellations?” he asks. “Or Escher, perhaps?”

She thinks about just politely brushing him off, but reconsiders. He seems nice enough, and the party will go by faster with someone to talk to. “Tell me about you,” she says, setting out along the gallery. “What do you do?”

“Oh, uh, well,” he begins, a nasally tone entering his voice as she pushes him into conversation he isn’t prepared for. “I’m an engineer. Or I’d like to be.”

“You’d like to be?” she asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turns to look at him, noticing as her eyes flit down his body that he’s walking with a slightly rolling gait, a distinct limp. 

He shrugs. “It’s complicated.” He’s noticed the way she’s looking at him, with mixed interest and curiosity. As he glances over her in turn, she can see him weighing something in his mind. After a moment, he leans down and lifts the hem of his left trouser leg a few inches, revealing a span of realistic but still distinctly plastic calf. 

Normally, Astrid wouldn’t ask, but the glass and a half of champagne she’s had this evening has emboldened her. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Mountaineering accident in Iceland when I was fifteen,” the man says. “Last time my dad ever tried taking me hiking.”

Astrid looks at his face, and even beneath his mask she can see a note of worry there.

“That’s rough,” she says. “Do you ever miss it?”

“The hiking or the foot?” he asks, a corner of his mouth quirking. 

Astrid blushes scarlet. “I meant the hiking, but—”

He chuckles, and instantly she feels relief flooding through her. “I still do some hiking,” he says. “Just not with him. I was never that into his kind of hiking. I prefer to go slow and contemplate, whereas he seems more intent on conquering his surroundings, whatever they may be.”

That makes her smile. “I must admit, I’m usually more like him when I’m hiking.”

The man grins. “Bit of a competitive type?”

“To put it mildly.”

“It’s probably a good thing you’re a professional athlete then, huh?” In response to her questioning look, he says, “Or so I assume, anyway. You’re, uh—you’re quite fit.”

He says this more as a statement of fact than as a compliment, but it makes the corners of her mouth turn up anyways. "Why are you up here on your own?" she asks.

"Things like this generally go better when I stay out of my dad's way," he says. "What about you?"

She sighs. "My teammates and I don't really get along. I think they resent my early rise to success. My hometown newspaper called it 'meteoric.'"

He snorts at that, as she had hoped he would. 

“I actually had something kind of similar happen,” Astrid says, transferring her champagne glass to the other hand and lifting her skirt to show the long, jagged scar that starts just below her right knee on the outside of her calf. “I was hiking down a path with a bunch of switchbacks when I slipped on some shale and slid down the side of the mountain to the next pass of the path, completely skipping the turn. Bit of an inconvenient shortcut.”

She can see him eyeing the spot where the scar vanishes under her skirt, and she is gratified to see him blush. The scar stretches all the way up to the bottom of her ribcage. “We were almost back to the car, so my friend drove me to the ER rather than wait for an ambulance.”

The man nods. “I had to be airlifted out, since we were too far in for basically anything but a helicopter.”

Astrid gasps, afraid for a moment that she’s offended him. “I didn’t mean—of course it’s not even close to the same thing…”

“No, it’s cool,” the man says. He’s smiling. “I’m sure you were really scared.”

“Well, at the time it was actually kind of exhilarating,” Astrid admits. “But I tore my ACL as well as scraping myself up, and I was barely ready to play by the time the season came around. At least it was just my junior year, so I had another season after that to make sure I got my scholarship.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” he says.

“Thanks,” she replies, and meeting his eyes, she sees they’re a vivid shade of green that completely holds her attention. 

“I used to say this really stupid thing—it’s only fun if you get a scar out of it,” she says. “Then I did get a scar, a rather big one, and after that, I stopped saying that.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a rueful smile, and she realizes how close he’s standing. She was right, earlier—with the added height of her shoes, they are almost exactly of a height. “Going too fast?” he asks.

“Sorry?” she asks, her eyes jumping back up to meet his. 

“Did you fall because you were going too fast?”

She considers this. “I think it’s less that I was going too fast, and more that I wasn’t looking closely enough at where I was going.” Without really meaning to, she finds herself looking at his lips.

He begins to lean in at the same time she does, so that they meet halfway. His mouth is warm, his lips a little chapped, and his hands are surprisingly strong as he places them on her back. 

For a moment, she is unsure of what she’s doing—drinking two glasses of champagne and making out with a random guy is hardly the way she usually acts at work parties—but he tastes of champagne and kisses well, and at the moment she can’t see the harm in it. 

Voices in the next gallery over startle them apart, and hand in hand, they wander farther along the halls. They find a secluded staircase, and on the landing halfway down the man stops, pressing Astrid against the wall as he begins to kiss her again. 

Her arms wrap around his neck as she slips her tongue into his mouth, and once more his hands land on her back as he pulls her close to him. She feels her foot rise and wrap around the back of his knee, pulling them closer still, and again she thinks—with a thrill this time—about how she never does this kind of thing. She feels him growing stiff against her hip, and she moans softly as his mouth drops to the place where her neck meets her shoulder.

The music of the party, which has been audible all this time, cuts off, and a man’s microphoned voice begins to speak. Astrid recognizes it as that of the team’s owner. It would appear he is giving a speech.

The man pulls back, breathing heavily. “Shit. We’d better get back,” he says. For as undone as she feels, he is still remarkably—unfairly—put together. At least his lips are a little glossier than they were before. 

She raises her hands to her hair.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” the man says, then, looking her over once more, “More than fine.”

They grin at each other and split up, arriving back at the party within moments of each other, though from different directions. Astrid grabs a fresh glass of champagne and settles into the edge of the crowd, casually arranging her hair to cover the mark that is beginning to rise on her neck.

* * *

He wasn’t hiding, he told himself. He was just waiting in an out-of-the-way spot in a back hallway in case Astrid wanted to find him and confront him.

It didn’t take long. Gobber had called a break so that he and Hiccup’s dad could talk, with practice set to start again later that afternoon. 

Astrid had dressed down slightly, trading her cleats and knee-high socks for a pair of flip-flops and throwing on a team-branded hoodie over her practice jersey. As she came around the corner, he noticed the scar that wrapped almost completely around her right thigh and felt himself blushing again, the way he had the night before.

She didn’t say anything; she just stood there a few feet away, studying him with her arms crossed.

He pulled the bottle of ibuprofen from his pocket and held it out as a sort of peace offering. “I imagine you’re feeling pretty rough too.”

She looked at him impassively. “I drink a lot of water,” she said, but nonetheless she took two, washing them down with water from the bottle he was carrying. 

“You must feel like a real dumbass,” she said after a moment.

He wasn’t sure if this was completely fair—she had, after all, kissed him too—but he nodded anyway. He did feel like a dumbass.

“I want to be clear that I didn’t realize last night who you were,” he said. “And I wasn’t part of getting you signed to the team, apart from telling my dad that you were really good.”

“You’ve seen me play?” asked Astrid. 

Hiccup nodded. 

“A lot?”

He nodded again. “We went to the same school. I graduated a year ahead of you.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “You didn’t recognize the scar?”

Hiccup sighed. “I don’t know, I was drunk and I wasn’t looking to recognize it.”

“It’s my most recognizable feature,” she snapped.

“No, it’s not,” he said without thinking.

“What is, then?” she challenged. 

“Well, at least on the soccer field, it’s your ferocity.”

“So the scar is just my most recognizable _physical_ feature.”

“No,” he said again. “That’s your eyes, your hair, your—” He cut himself off, blushing again. Against his will, his eyes flicked downward.

She gave a huff of laughter, and belatedly he realized she’d been teasing him. “Well, at least you’re honest,” she said.

He sighed. “Look. I just wanted to make sure you know that I’m not going to try to use whatever power I have over you—and really, I don’t even have any—to get anything from you.”

“That’s good,” Astrid said. “Because you couldn’t, even if you wanted to.” Her eyes bored into him.

“I know.”

“Good.”

An idea had slowly been dawning on Hiccup as they’d been speaking.

“Obviously that can’t happen again,” he said. 

Astrid’s eyebrows rose, but she nodded. “Obviously.”

“But nothing says we can’t be friends. And if people read it as something other than friendship, that’s on them. It might help with your teammates if you had something other than soccer to talk about with them.”

Her lips quirked. “Like a guy?”

He shrug-nodded. “It’s a common workplace discussion topic.”

Astrid crossed her arms. “And what would be in it for you?”

The truthful answer wasn’t an option. _That dog won’t hunt,_ a nonsense part of his brain babbled. A sub-reason then. “If my dad thinks I’ve gotten involved with a player on the team, he might be more open to me being less involved with you all.”

“Is it soccer you don’t like, or us?” Astrid asked. 

“It’s not like that—” Hiccup started, but cut himself off at Astrid’s grin, the first he’d seen from her that day. “Oh. You’re messing with me.”

She looked at him for a moment. “I still need to eat before we start practice again. Let me think about it.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She pulled out her phone. “Give me your number.”

Hiccup rattled off the digits, and she punched them in, not bothering to read them back. Her phone vanished into the pocket of her hoodie, and without another word she turned on her heel and walked back down the hallway.

“See you later,” Hiccup called after her. 

The smacking of her flip-flops didn’t stop or even slow, but she gave him a dazzling smile over her shoulder. “Bye,” she said. “Thanks for the ibuprofen.”

That smile was still on his mind when he and his father returned to their big house on the hill overlooking the bridges of the city. 

He doubted she would text him. Surely she’d seen through the not-a-pass he’d made, and even if she hadn’t, her boss’ son would hardly be her favored candidate for a new friend. 

All the same, even as he told himself not to hope, it was hard not to. He changed out of his suit into an oversized t-shirt and Valkyries-branded track pants as his desktop booted up.

Trying not to look at his phone, he settled into the familiar modeling software, building digital machines that would never be materialized.


	2. The Rules

It is the end of the week, and Astrid is sprawled across her sofa, her phone resting screen-down on her stomach as she watches a Meg Ryan comedy she’s loved since she was far too young for it. She has always watched it when she needs a pick-me-up for whatever reason, as she does now. 

But as Meg Ryan pluckily navigates the waters of being a Manhattan bookseller, Astrid cannot keep her mind on the story. 

It’s not that she’s thinking about what has happened in practice this week, although there is certainly plenty to unpack there. In the afternoon session after she spoke to Hiccup, Astrid’s disappearance during the lunch break had been heavily speculated upon. It wasn’t even as though she was gone the whole time, just long enough to garner attention. As the afternoon had dragged on, and her teammates had kept pressing her with questions, Astrid’s patience had worn thin. She’d gotten so angry at the smugness of Rachel Denbrough, a defender and a close friend of the team captain, that she kicked a ball into Rachel’s face instead of passing it to her like she was supposed to. She thought she’d managed to play it off as an accident, but all the same, Coach Gobber had sent her to run each aisle of the stands while the other women did laps around the pitch. There hasn’t been any gossip or snide comments since then, at least not where Astrid could hear, but Rachel is definitely pissed. 

Astrid isn’t proud of having done this, but she has to admit she felt a certain satisfaction at seeing Rachel’s black eye the next day. Still, she supposes she will have to deal with the consequences of this someday.

No, what is occupying Astrid’s thoughts, what has been driving her almost to distraction all week, is Hiccup Haddock. Mostly the way he looked in the suit he wore to the stadium the first day of practice. She hasn’t seen him since then, though his father has come to observe practice since then. Astrid has only spoken to Stoick in passing, but it’s clear even from that how different he and Hiccup are. 

Even digitally, he’s been giving her space. He follows plenty of her teammates on Instagram—though not Rachel, she’s noticed. And not her, of course. She picks her phone up and scrolls through his feed again. It’s pretty standard for a young single guy in this area: waterfalls, sunsets, the coast. He’s shirtless in a few photos, and she tells herself she’s pausing on them longer than the others so she can read the captions. He’s a surprisingly good writer, for a self-described engineer.

She doesn’t know what to think about him. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s right when he says they shouldn’t get physical again. One drunken makeout at a masquerade ball can be written off fairly easily even if someone were to find out, but if they were to continue now that the masks have come off, it could be disastrous.

Mostly for her.

Astrid finds herself wanting to see him again, even with sex off the table as it would have to be. She isn’t sure why, precisely, but the impulse hasn’t worn off. It’s hard to tell precisely what he wants. He seemed certain enough of that the night of the party, but the next day he’d been cordially professional, almost businesslike, as he’d spoken to her. Even if it hadn’t been his primary motive, he’d been covering his ass. He probably hadn’t expected to see her again after the party. 

She wonders what his motive was with that weird proposition of friendship. She has a hard time believing he just wants to be friends—not after the way he kissed her at the party. Still, she hasn’t exactly hit it off with the rest of the team, and it’s not like she can afford to turn down a friend right now, whatever ulterior motives he might have. She doesn’t think he’d push her into anything she wasn’t comfortable with, not with the way she’s seen him behave the last few days.

Or rather, the way she hasn’t seen him. He could have easily found her phone number in the last few days. And nobody would have blinked an eye if he’d followed her on any manner of social media. 

But he hasn’t. He’s left her alone.

She lands on a photo from a few months ago, when she was in her last few months of college. It’s a selfie, showing him from the chest up, lying in a bed of red and orange autumn leaves. He’s wearing a hoodie from their shared alma mater. 

She’s noticed that most of his photos are either selfies or landscape shots. There’s only a couple of him that were taken by someone else, or that include another person. The thought occurs to Astrid that maybe Hiccup could use a friend too.

The movie ends with a floaty cover of “Over the Rainbow” playing over a sickeningly romantic scene in a park. Astrid, normally deeply and routinely moved by this ending, studies it distractedly, her steel-blue eyes narrowed slightly. 

She makes a decision, closes Instagram, and begins composing a text message.

* * *

The sun was setting the next afternoon as Hiccup approached the callbox for Astrid’s building, holding a plastic bag full of take-out boxes by the knots that tied it shut. He scrolled through the directory, name by name, until he reached “Hofferson, A.” He took a deep breath and hit the call button. 

It was just a few seconds—only long enough for the callbox to ring twice—but it seemed like an eternity before Astrid’s voice came crackling through. “Hello?”

“Hey,” said Hiccup. “It’s Hiccup Haddock.”

For a moment, there was silence, and Hiccup felt his heart begin to rise into his throat.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m still figuring out the system. Come up to the fifth floor, and I’ll meet you by the elevators.” Before he could answer, there was a loud buzz, and the door unlocked with a click. Hiccup found the elevator, pressed the button, and waited, watching the numbers on the digital display as the elevator descended toward him.

On the trip into the city, he’d read and reread their conversation from the night before, trying to gauge Astrid’s intentions in inviting him over. It would be easy for Chinese food and movies to evolve into something they had both agreed shouldn’t happen; indeed, under almost any other circumstances, Hiccup would expect it to.

Astrid was as good as her word. When the elevator doors opened onto the fifth floor, she was standing in front of him, her arms crossed. She wore leggings and an oversized college hoodie that hung down past her hips. It wasn’t an obvious seduction outfit, but Hiccup had seen weirder.

“Nice hoodie,” he said, stepping out of the elevator.

“Thanks,” Astrid said with a grin. “My dad originally bought it for himself, but then he left it in my dorm while he was helping me move in, and it became mine. Come on, I’m back this way.”

He followed her through the hallway until they reached a corner unit on the opposite side of the building from the elevator. The building was arranged around a landscaped courtyard, an unbroken square except for a twenty-foot gap on one side where the sidewalk came in through the courtyard. It was the way Hiccup had come in. 

Astrid pulled her keys from her hoodie pocket and let them in to her apartment, leaving her slippers just inside the door. Her soccer bag and flip-flops were on the floor there too, along with a pair of black ankle boots. Apart from that, though, her apartment was pretty clean, the hardwood floor stretching unbroken past a kitchen island and a loveseat to a window, which stretched from the floor almost all the way to the ceiling. 

“Shoes off?” Hiccup asked.

“If you don’t mind,” Astrid replied.

Having obliged, he set the bag of food on the kitchen island and untied the knot. “Mushroom chicken, rice, spring rolls, and chicken chow mein,” he said as he pulled out each container. “And sweet and sour sauce for the spring rolls.”

“Do you want a plate?” Astrid asked. She walked behind the island and opened a cupboard. As she raised her arms to get a plate for herself, the hem of her sweatshirt lifted, showing the rounded curves of her ass against her leggings. 

“I’m okay,” Hiccup said. “I’ll just eat out of the container. Thanks, though.”

The outline of her ass disappeared under the hoodie once more, and Hiccup lifted his eyes to meet hers as she turned back around to face him. “Suit yourself,” she said, and began serving herself rice and mushroom chicken.

Fortunately, there were two little cups of sweet and sour sauce, so they wouldn’t have to share.

“We’ll have to sit on the couch,” Astrid said, heading that way. She set her plate on the coffee table and picked up a game controller. Opposite the loveseat was a TV currently displaying the browsing screen for a streaming service. 

“Fine by me,” Hiccup said. He brought over his own takeout container and the bag of spring rolls. Sitting next to Astrid, he noticed a set of stairs next to the TV that led up to what seemed to be a loft. “What’s up there?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s my room,” she said nonchalantly. “It’s barely big enough for a bed, but I love the way the light comes in the windows in the morning.”

“Nice,” Hiccup said. “It’s a cool apartment.”

“Thanks,” Astrid said, smiling at him. “I’m still kind of getting used to it, but I really like it so far.”

“Am I the first guy you’ve had over here?” he asked, the words out of his mouth before he realized he was saying them.

Astrid’s jaw clenched, and for a moment Hiccup thought she was going to snap at him, which, he admitted, he would have deserved completely. But instead she turned to him and asked, her voice equal parts annoyance and wry amusement, “Does it matter?”

“No,” Hiccup said hurriedly. “Sorry.”

Astrid turned back to the TV. “What do you want to watch?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Hiccup said. “Just whatever you were watching before is fine…”

Astrid shrugged. “If you say so.” She navigated to her “recently watched” tab and selected the first thing there, a sitcom Hiccup had never seen but had been meaning to watch for a long time. When he said as much, she turned to him, grinning. “You’ve never seen it? Okay, we’re starting from the beginning.”

A few button clicks achieved this, and they settled back with their food. Hiccup took his spring rolls and ate them quickly, noticing as he did that Astrid had put hers on the side of her plate and was alternating bites of them with mushroom chicken. He took up his chopsticks and began working on the chow mein.

When a curly-haired Latina woman appeared on the screen, he asked, “Oh, is that the one who comes out as bi?”

“Yeah,” Astrid said. “In the fifth season.”

They watched probably half a dozen episodes, speaking very little but laughing uproariously. Hiccup was really only aware of the passage of time from the show’s impossibly catchy, brass-heavy theme song—and the fact that, slowly but surely, Astrid had inched across the loveseat toward him, so that he could feel the warmth from her side all along his own. He looked down at her nervously, and saw in her eyes the same nervousness he felt. Wariness, even.

As a rule, Hiccup didn’t like tests. He’s never been terribly good at them in school, only doing as well as he did because of extensive preparation and studying. And this was indubitably a test. Astrid was asking, as directly as she could without actually doing so verbally, what he would do if she placed herself in close proximity to him.

There were three real options, as far as he could see, but kissing her, much as he might have liked to, would be disastrous for this little experiment, and scooting away from her was the last thing he wanted to do. There was, of course, the non-starter option—storming out in indignance at being tested like this—but that wouldn’t achieve anything.

So, thinking the coziest thoughts he could, he raised one of his arms in an invitation. Astrid looked at him evenly for a moment before moving closer still, letting him wrap her shoulders in the circle of his arm. 

It wasn’t snuggling, exactly. They were both too rigid for that. But all along his arm, the skin seemed to prickle at the warmth rising through her hoodie. He thought the hairs on his arms might be standing up, and figured it was just as well he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt. He could not have said what happened in the next two episodes if his life had depended on it, but from the way Astrid was beginning to relax against him, he thought he must be passing the test. 

This proved to be true, as when Astrid pulled away it was to stretch and yawn, offering him a sleepy smile over her shoulder that made his stomach lurch. “I’d better get to bed,” she said. “I forgot to ask, how’d you get here?”

“I took the ALEX in,” he replied, naming the local lightrail system. “I figured it was less conspicuous than my bike, and I didn’t have to worry about parking.”

They both stood up. “Should we try to figure out some kind of… rules for this whole thing?” Hiccup asked. 

Astrid shrugged. “We’ll hang out, doing friend things like Netflix-and-literally-chilling, maybe dinner or a movie or something, possibly some stuff outdoors, obfuscate vaguely and say we’re on a date with a guy or a girl or whatever when people ask, and refrain from making out again.”

Hiccup could only nod. “That does sound reasonable.” Something occurred to him. “First one who kisses the other, or tries to kiss the other, loses?” That should activate her competitive nature.

She grinned. “You’re on.”

“One thing, though.” He stepped closer so that he was standing over her. “I get that tonight was an experiment to see whether we could hang out without falling all over each other, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to test me specifically. I don’t like being tested.”

“And I don’t like losing,” she said, smiling up at him, though he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. “Is physical contact okay, though?”

He felt himself nodding. It was far more than okay, but he was relieved when he said only, “It’s fine. Just as long as it doesn’t feel like you’re trying to set me up to lose.”

Astrid took a step closer to him. They were well and truly dangerously close now. “But aren’t you my opponent?”

With a great rallying of willpower, Hiccup took a step back. “No,” he said. “I’m your teammate.” But a glint in her eye told him she considered this—that he had taken the step back before she did—a minor victory. “I told you not to test me,” he said.

“Sorry,” she said, though the lazy, confident grin on her face said that she was anything but. He’d seen her use that grin on the soccer pitch to move opposing players to true wrath.

For a moment, his eyes drifted toward the stairs leading up to the loft as the impulse crossed his mind to kiss her, to let her lead him up there and…

But instead he went to the door and started putting on his shoes.

Astrid trailed after him. “Text me when you get home?” she requested. 

“Of course, milady,” he said, and though her nose wrinkled slightly, she didn’t object.

They hugged goodbye, more than a little awkwardly, and then Hiccup was out in the corridor. He didn’t quite dare take a full breath until he was leaving the courtyard five floors below Astrid’s apartment. Reaching the sidewalk, he sucked in a lungful of cold, early-spring air and started walking toward the nearest ALEX station. 

The night had gone well, he thought. They had proved that they could spend time alone together without automatically defaulting to making out, and he had proven to himself along with her that he could resist both her attempts to beguile him and those impossibly blue eyes. He would not be the one to break the rules they had set; nor would he be the first one to make a move, the next time moves were made.

Astrid hated to lose. But the thing was, so did he.

* * *

As she watches him turn the corner on his way to the ALEX stop, Astrid still isn’t sure what exactly Hiccup wants from her. She had felt his heart beating when he’d had his arm around her, but he hadn’t taken the bait either time she’d put herself in his way. Of course, the second time had been only moments after they’d agreed that doing so would constitute defeat, though they’d never worked out exactly what defeat would mean. She resolves to ask him about it the next time they do this, and in that moment she realizes that they will do this at least once more.

The next day, she decides to get out of the house for a few hours. She drives east of the city to a trail that everyone told her she needed to hike when they heard she was moving out here. It’s hard to find a parking spot, and she realizes coming to the most popular hiking trail in the state on a Sunday afternoon may not have been the best choice. Finally, though, she’s able to park her car, and she follows the flow of people under the overpass to the trailhead. 

The mile-long trail to the iconic waterfall isn’t crowded, exactly, but there is definitely traffic, which is moving at a pace slower than she would have chosen. Astrid finds herself periodically power-walking around the slowest clumps of people. As the iconic falls come into view, though, she cannot help but slow her pace and then stop outright, leaning against the railing of a small bridge. “Wow,” she says softly, almost breathlessly. Above her, the waterfall pours elegantly down in two segments with a bridge crossing them partway down. It looks like something from an elf kingdom. She waits for the upper bridge to empty, then pulls out her phone and takes a photo of the falls. There are millions of such photos already in existence, she knows, but that doesn’t matter. She takes a selfie, too, with the falls in the background, and then, after only a moment’s consideration, texts the first one to Hiccup sans caption. 

A second later, he texts back: _You’re kidding._

Before she can reply, a tall, thin figure darts out onto the bridge above her and waves down at her. Laughing despite herself, she waves back and starts up the path again at a light jog, weaving between groups of people.

He waits for her on the bridge. “Hey,” she says, stopping a yard or so away from him. “What are you doing here?”

“After our talk last week, I decided I wanted to go hiking,” he says, spreading his arms wide as though to envelop the beauty around them. It rained this morning, but now the early spring sun is breaking through, giving the new growth even more freshness by its light.

She grins. “Me too. I haven’t really been hiking here yet, so I figured I should give it a try.”

“You picked a good place to start,” he says.

“Have you done the loop?” she asks, referring to the more difficult hike that may be accessed from the top of the falls. It’s less frequented than the path they’re standing on now, and stretches for five miles to visit smaller, lesser-known waterfalls. 

“I have, but I didn’t today.”

“Would you like to?”

His eyebrows rise at the invitation. She sees him consider it, but after a moment he shakes his head. “I’d better not,” he says. “My dad wants me to go to the stadium with him tomorrow, and I don’t want to piss him off ahead of that by getting home later than I said I would.”

“How do you want to handle that?” Astrid asks, a trifle apprehensively.

Hiccup shrugs. “Maybe not like we’ve been hanging out, but I don’t think we need to intentionally be distant.”

Astrid nods. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow, then?”

“Sounds good,” he says with a grin, and they part ways. 

Astrid is a little surprised at her disappointment that Hiccup didn’t join her. She’d asked automatically, but she realizes now that she honestly would have really liked to spend the time with him. She isn’t sure what to think of that.

As she climbs, she thinks back once more to the events of the night before—specifically, the way she’d experimented to see what he’d do if she gave him an opportunity, or, as he’d put it, the way she’d tested him.

She isn’t sure about that, either—about how she’d wanted it to play out. She had seen his glance toward the stairs leading up to her loft, and the memory of the way he’d kissed her had sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

Maybe she just needs to get laid. Though not with him, of course.

Still, it’s hard not to think about kissing him, and the feeling of his hands on her back… whether or not she wants him to do it again. And she still isn’t sure if she does. The self-indulgent part of her that is shouting in the back of her head far louder than she’s allowed it to in years definitely does, but she is first and foremost a driven, strategic athlete, and the idea of becoming “the girl who slept with the owner’s son” is utterly repugnant to her. 

It’s probably for the best that she has plenty of time to think about it, she thinks ruefully as she turns onto the loop.

She is on edge all the next morning, looking over her shoulder even as she tries to run drills with the rest of the team. After an hour of this, Gobber blows his whistle and waves her over. “Hofferson! Come here!”

She does so, ignoring the snickers and smug looks from Rachel and a couple other women, though not the captain, as she notes with relief and gratitude.

“Come on, ladies! Heads in the game!” calls the captain, a woman with short black hair named Hannah Jensen, as Astrid jogs past her.

“Where’s your head, Astrid?” Gobber asks when she reaches him. 

“I don’t know, Coach. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever you’re thinking about, it can wait,” he says, not unkindly. “This is your job, now go and do it!”

“Yes, Coach,” Astrid says, turning on her heel and running back to where Hannah and the team are waiting. 

It feels like an eternity before the whistle blows again, and the flurry of activity stops abruptly. Her face flushed, Astrid looks around toward Gobber’s post. Her gaze sweeps past the hulking form of Stoick to meet Hiccup’s bright green eyes.

The tension she’s been feeling all morning finally breaks, and relief rushes in. It is followed closely by a new flood of tension that somehow mixes with the relief, swirling around her head in a great effervescent storm that leaves room in her mind for only one thought:

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you’re still enjoying it. Please leave a review!


	3. The Girl

Hiccup and his father only spent an hour or so at the stadium that morning. Having spent the entirety of their training time the week before on the soccer pitch, the “girls” were now going to move out to a training facility in the suburbs to do yoga, weightlifting, cardio, and other things beyond Hiccup’s understanding. Gobber had once explained to Hiccup that he liked to spend the first week on the pitch to instill teamwork early on before the relatively solitary training in the subsequent weeks could create a pattern of each team member focusing on her own game more than that of the team as a whole. Hiccup didn’t know whether this worked, though the team did seem to have a stronger sense of camaraderie than many he’d seen.

What Hiccup hadn’t expected, much to his chagrin, was that his dad had insisted the two of them accompany Gobber out to the training facility and then stay to eat lunch with the team. Stoick had gotten lunch catered, and it was waiting for them, along with most of the team, when they arrived.

Astrid was the last to get there, coming in with her face flushed and her bag thrown over her shoulder. By then, most of the team, along with their trainers and Gobber, had served themselves from the trays of grilled chicken and spinach salad and vegetables. Astrid took her place in line behind Hiccup, who allowed himself a smile at her. She grinned back hesitantly, and before he could help it, he was holding out his hand to her.

“Hey, I’m Hiccup,” he said.

She furrowed her brows at him but shook his hand anyway. “Astrid. Astrid Hofferson.”

Stoick, on Hiccup’s other side, asked loudly, “Have you two not met?” Then he answered his own question: “What about last week at the stadium?”

Cringing, Hiccup turned to face his father. “We just shook hands, we didn’t really get a chance to introduce ourselves.”

Even when Stoick was just looking at him, it felt like glaring. “And what about when you two were at school together?”

“We must have just never run into each other.” True though it was, the excuse sounded weak even to Hiccup.

“Hmph,” Stoick said.

“I think the line’s moving,” Astrid said accurately, and the conversation was blessedly over.

As he sat down next to his dad, Hiccup looked back to where Astrid was collecting her cutlery. Watching the way the other players looked at her, he braced himself for whatever awkwardness was about to ensue. Whatever else happened, he wasn’t about to let Astrid sit by herself.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to be the one to invite her over. Across the room, Hannah Jensen, the team captain, called, “Hey Hofferson! Come sit with us!” When Astrid wasn’t looking, Hannah gave Rachel Denbrough, sitting next to her, a quelling look. No doubt Rachel had nudged her under the table. 

Rachel’s gaze swiveled toward the table where Hiccup was sitting with Gobber and his father, as though in appeal. Hiccup dropped his gaze, studiously avoiding Rachel’s eyes, though he did notice the fading bruise along one of her orbital bones.

He hadn’t heard about that, though he had little doubt who’d put it there.

The rest of the lunch went without incident, but as they were parting ways at the house, Hiccup’s dad grasped his shoulder when Hiccup went to turn away. The grip, though gentle, was firm as a vice.

“Son, what’s your interest in Astrid Hofferson?”

Hiccup’s stomach dropped. He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “She just seems nice, is all.”

Stoick’s eyebrows rose. Hiccup wasn’t sure if it was having a Scottish father, or just _his_ father, but he was acutely aware of how sensitive his dad’s bullshit meter was, and had always been.

“Does a guy have to be interested in someone to want to make them feel welcome?” Hiccup asked, flustered now.

“Some guys, no. Maybe even most. But you? Yes.” His dad looked down at him, his eyes softer than his words would suggest. “Be careful there, son. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to get involved with one of the girls personally, especially not when you’re working closely with the team.”

Seeing an opportunity, Hiccup leaped for it. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You know how I have a friend who’s working at an engineering firm in town? I’ve been thinking about asking if he could get me an interview.”

Stoick’s eyebrows rose again. “That may not be such a bad idea,” he said thoughtfully. Finally, he let go of Hiccup’s shoulder. “Just be careful.”

“I will, Dad,” Hiccup said, retreating down the hallway toward his room.

He and Astrid had two more movie nights.

On the first, the following Saturday, Astrid opened her door even as he was raising his hand to knock. “What was that?” she asked, laughing. 

“What was what?” he asked indignantly.

“Hey, I’m Hiccup,” she said, dropping her voice an octave in mocking imitation of his. 

“That’s not funny,” he said, though he could feel the corners of his lips twitching. “I was just trying to welcome you to the lunch.”

“Whatever,” she said, laughing again. “Come on, the pizza should be here any minute.” Obediently, he followed her into the apartment. “Shall we pick up where we left off?” she asked, turning to face him. She was wearing leggings again, and a loose orange t-shirt that showed just an inch or so of her toned stomach.

He set his motorcycle helmet on the kitchen island and swung his backpack down off his shoulder. “I actually watched ahead a little,” he said, bending down to pull off his boots. 

“By a little, you mean…”

“I mean I watched the rest of the first season and got halfway through the second,” he said, straightening up. He’d started out of worry that Astrid might quiz him on the episodes he’d zoned out for and then got caught up in it. At her incredulous look, he said, “I have a lot of spare time. I hope you don’t mind.”

She shrugged, smiling. “Not at all. Come on, I’ll get it set up while we wait.”

They settled in on the loveseat, pausing only when Astrid’s phone buzzed. “Must be the pizza guy,” she remarked, and pressed a button to signal the callbox to open the door. A couple of minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Astrid went to open it, and as she went through the business of signing the receipt, the guy glanced in at the apartment. He was maybe a year younger than Hiccup, and as his eyes flicked between Hiccup on the loveseat, the way Astrid was dressed, and Hiccup’s bag on the floor, Hiccup could see him making assumptions that Hiccup found he didn’t much care for. The pizza guy’s smirk turned into a pleasant smile as he took the receipt back from Astrid.

“I hope you didn’t tip him too much,” Hiccup grumbled as Astrid sat next to him.

“Just my standard amount,” she said. “Why? What did he do?”

“He was being gross.”

“Really? I feel like I would have noticed if he were ogling me or something.” She set the pizza box down on the coffee table and opened it. 

“It was more subtle than that.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.” She jumped to her feet. “Damn, I forgot plates.” As she went to the kitchen to get them, brushing past him in the process, Hiccup averted his gaze.

They kept watching the show for the rest of the night, and the next Saturday night. As they spent more time together, being near her got easier, until he was almost comfortable. 

When Hiccup went to try and confirm their plans for the next week, though, Astrid shook her head. 

“Can’t, sorry,” she said. “I have some friends coming into town to help me celebrate my first full month here.”

“They didn’t want to be here for your first game?” Hiccup asked. “It’s only a few weeks after that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to be distracted for that. They’re used to that.” She smiled at him. “Weekend after next?”

Hiccup grinned. “I think I have a better idea.”

* * *

Astrid can see them as soon as she rounds the turn into the arrivals terminal. They’re standing at the curb in front of one of the doors, all four of them, and it’s only upon seeing them that she realizes quite how much she’s missed them. They’re all there: tiny, ginger Abby, pushing her glasses up her nose; Claire, who looks way too put-together to have just spent hours on a plane; Natasha, who is wearing one of her habitual oversized cardigans; and Heather, whose long black hair is tied up in a bun on the top of her head.

They spot her a moment after she sees them, and all begin waving frantically. She can’t help but laugh as she pulls up in her bright blue crossover.

She hops out and is at once enveloped in a veritable storm of hugs, all enthusiastic arms and squeals and almost-too-tight embraces. Finally, they pull apart, and somehow manage to get five women, four carry-one, three backpacks, and a tote bag stuffed nearly to bursting in the car. Heather sits next to Astrid in the passenger seat, with the others in the back.

The sound of all of them chattering and laughing fills the car, infinitely louder than it had been on her approach. 

And she loves it so much. 

Looking in the rearview mirror at her friends in the back seat, she feels a strange, happy lump rising in her throat. Heather is the only one who notices this, and she offers a small smile. When Astrid shifts gears to get up to speed on the road leading back into the city, she leaves her hand on the gear shift. Heather reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it once before releasing it.

As they cross one of the city’s many bridges, the sound reaches a fever pitch as everyone marvels over the river. Though she’s already starting to get used to it, Astrid finds herself grinning too.

They stop at a hotel a few blocks from Astrid’s apartment so the others can check in and drop off most of their bags. Of course, everyone wants to see Astrid’s apartment, so they head there next. Claire and Abby are the only ones who survived college with any trace of shyness remaining, so they take turns in the bathroom as Natasha and Heather change into pajamas in the main room. It is a mark of having spent four years getting pizza regularly that they are able to decide what to get with only minor debate.

As Astrid is placing the order, Claire comes out from the bathroom. Looking at her over the top of her laptop, Astrid does a double-take. “Did you—you’re wearing different lip gloss than you were at the airport.”

“What? No, I’m not,” Claire says, but she’s smiling as she bends down to put her jeans in her tote bag.

“You are,” Heather says, peering into Claire’s face. She’s pulled her hair out of its bun and is now plaiting it so it hangs over her shoulder in a thick black braid. 

“Really, Claire?” Natasha says, coming down the steps from Astrid’s loft. Her tank top is tight across her chest, her cardigan now unbuttoned and hanging loose. Astrid looks away and directly into Heather’s eyes, which, she notices now, are quite similar to Hiccup’s. Heather smirks at her. 

“What?” Claire demands, not having noticed this exchange of looks. “Is it a crime?”

“For a movie night? In your PJs?” Natasha crosses her arms. 

“The first one didn’t go with my pajamas,” Claire says.

“So you admit you’re not wearing the first one anymore,” Abby says from where she’s curled up on the loveseat. 

“Do you have to be such a future lawyer?” Claire asks. “It’s just lip gloss.”

“Okay,” says Astrid, laughing. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Abby only pushes her glasses up again.

Astrid trots up the stairs and tosses down the pillows and comforter from her bed. There’s a throw on the loveseat too, and enough cushions that she thinks they’ll be comfortable. Looking down at the four of them, she realizes that this apartment was definitely not meant to hold five people. She hopes her neighbors will be forgiving, especially considering that she hasn’t made much noise before now, and breathes a sigh of relief that they won’t be sleeping here.

When the pizza guy rings the buzzer, she’s the only one still wearing real pants, so she goes down to get the pizza rather than having the driver come up.

“Have a movie picked out when I get back,” she says on her way out. When she returns, it is to the most delightful chaos.

This carries on through the next day. Early in the morning, she walks to the hotel and picks them up. Predictably, Claire is still getting ready when she gets there; less predictably, so is Abby. Astrid sits in the lobby with Heather and Natasha while they wait, until finally the elevator dings, and as one their heads turn to see Claire and Natasha. Predictably, Claire looks amazing; less predictably, Abby is in a bright floral wrap dress, and she looks incredible. 

Astrid says as much, taking Abby’s arm on the sidewalk outside the hotel. “You look incredible. You would never have worn something like that in college.”

Abby grins up at her. “Yeah, I’ve been experimenting more. I don’t know if it’s law school or New York, but I’ve been a lot more adventurous lately.”

“So where are we going?” Heather asks from behind them. 

Astrid half-turns so she can talk to all of them. “I’m not sure. The Saturday Market is going on down by the riverfront, and there are tons of little coffee shops and restaurants between here and there where we can eat if we want.”

“It’s not like you to not have a plan,” Natasha says, though there’s no criticism in her voice. Rather, she sounds intrigued. 

Astrid shrugs. “I can’t be a tactician every day.”

It takes a while, but they do make it to the Saturday market, where they wander, together and separately, until lunch. As they’re eating on a bench by the waterfront, Natasha somehow manages to talk them into walking across the river to a science museum, where she regales them for hours about the fossils in the natural sciences hall and its adjoining paleontology lab. She’s the only one who’s stayed near their college, and her career is already off to a good start, thanks to the find she was partially credited for at the end of the previous season. 

They catch a rideshare back across the river—none of them wants to walk—and drop off their purchases from the market at the hotel before walking to a restaurant that, as they approach, Astrid realizes is the same place where Hiccup bought Chinese food the first time they hung out.

Heather elbows Astrid in the side. “Hey. Where’s your head?”

Astrid grimaces. “Could you try not to talk like a coach?”

They eat—Astrid has the mushroom chicken again—and by the time they’re finished, it’s starting to get late. They walk half a block to a bar creatively called Bartini—and Astrid stops short at who she sees coming out of the bar. 

It’s Rachel Denbrough. And she’s with Hannah Jensen. 

Hannah is the first to speak. “Hey, Astrid. Out for a night on the town?”

“Yeah,” Astrid says, smiling. “I haven’t really had a chance to go out yet. Are you two having fun?”

“So far, so good. Who are your friends?”

Astrid introduces them all in turn, and Hannah grins and shakes each girl’s hand. Rachel remains silent, and while she isn’t glaring at Astrid, the light in her eyes isn’t terribly friendly either. 

“I’ll see you at practice. Have fun!” Hannah says. 

“You too.” With that, Astrid and the others enter the bar

“Wow, she was not happy to see you,” Claire says, and Astrid assumes she means Rachel. 

“Is she the one you kicked in the face?” Heather asks. 

“I didn’t kick her,” Astrid says defensively. “Five, please,” she says to the perturbed hostess.

As they get round after round of drinks, Heather slowly inches closer to Astrid on the bench they’re sitting on—or maybe Astrid’s the one inching closer. It’s hard to tell. Before they leave, Claire, Abby, and Natasha all go to the bathroom, leaving Heather and Astrid alone. 

As Astrid’s signing the check, she becomes aware that Heather is watching her intently. 

“What?” she asks, turning to meet the other woman’s gaze. 

“I was just thinking. You seem happy here. Like you fit.”

Astrid feels a smile steal over her face. “I am happy here. So far, at least.”

“You look good, Astrid.”

Heather holds her gaze for a moment longer before they are both distracted by the others’ return.

They gather up bags and jackets and start walking home. As they walk, Heather reached out and takes Astrid’s hand. When they get to the corner where the group will part ways, she doesn’t let go.

And neither does Astrid.

Claire rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” says Heather.

They all hug goodnight with a chorus of “Text me when you get home”s. As the others are walking away, Astrid hears Abby say, “I told you they were gonna,” followed by a laugh from Natasha.

They barely make it to Astrid’s apartment. Even as the door is shutting behind them, they are kissing, pulling off clothes that go flying and land goodness knows where. It’s been almost a year since Astrid was with Heather, but she finds that she still knows all the right places to put her hands and mouth—and Heather still knows all her places too. 

As Heather’s shirt and bra come off, Astrid cups one of Heather’s breasts in her hand and slips the other one down the back of Heather’s jeans, which the other woman is already unbuttoning. Heather slips both her hands up the back of Astrid’s top and gently drags her nails down Astrid’s back—and then Astrid isn’t wearing her top anymore. She gasps, arching against Heather, and Heather kisses her again and again, digging her nails into Astrid’s back and shoulders as Astrid clings to her. Astrid finds herself gasping with pleasure on the loveseat, Heather before her, and seemingly only moments later, they are stumbling up the stairs to the loft.

She finds herself hoping once more that her neighbors will be forgiving.

When she wakes the next morning, it is to her phone buzzing on the nightstand next to her. Dimly, she remembers having retrieved it and plugged it in the night before. 

She groans as she sees the time, but answers the phone. “Hello?” she says groggily.

“Good morning,” Hiccup’s voice says, tinny from the callbox. “Are you ready to get the girls together and head to brunch?”

Astrid twists to look over her shoulder at the other side of the bed. Heather’s black hair is pooled on the pillow, and an expanse of creamy pale skin is visible where the blanket has slipped from her shoulders and back.

“We’ll be down in a bit,” Astrid says.

* * *

Hiccup had been surprised when Astrid said “we,” but not as surprised as when he saw who the “we” was referring to. 

“Oh hey, Heather,” he said as the two women emerged from the apartment building. She was wearing what appeared to be last night’s outfit: jeans, a rumpled gray t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Astrid, meanwhile, was fresh as a daisy in a blue dress patterned with tiny flowers over a pair of leggings. 

“Hey, Hiccup,” Heather said with a curve of her lips verging on a smile.

“You two know each other?” Astrid asked.

“Yeah, we’re old friends,” Heather said.

“Are you ready?” Hiccup asked, rising from the bench he’d been sitting on in the courtyard.

“Actually, I think I’m going to head back to the hotel,” Heather said. “It sounds like the others are in rough shape, and Natasha is imploring me to bring her some orange juice. You two should go on, though.”

“Are you sure?” Astrid asked.

“Yeah,” Heather said. “I’ll text you once everyone’s feeling better.” She waved and turned on her heel, heading off down the block.

“Are you not hungover?” Hiccup asked Astrid.

“I drink a lot of water,” she said.

He chuckled. “Come on, I know a place where we can get some breakfast.” He set off in the opposite direction as Heather, Astrid by his side.

“So how do you know Heather?” he asked when they’d gone half a block. 

“She and I used to hook up in college,” she said. “We were roommates, and then friends, and then…”

“Oh my gods, you were roommates,” he muttered.

“Did you just say ‘oh my gods?’” she asked, laughing incredulously. 

“And what about it?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Nothing, I guess.” She paused for a moment. “How do you know her?”

“You heard her, our dads are old friends, which means we’re old friends.” He hesitated. “Plus I used to hook up with her in college too.”

Her head snapped up to stare at him. “You’re not the one who gave her—”

“No,” he said emphatically. “I remember that, though. I’m glad she was able to get it cleared up. For your sake as well as hers.” He nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.

She furrowed her eyebrows, nearly glaring at him for a moment before she realized he was teasing her. She looked sheepish for a moment before the questioning look returned. “Wait. We must have been around the same time, then. How is it that we never met?”

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

“I wonder why she never mentioned you,” Astrid said. “It wasn’t all that uncommon for her to set me up with a guy after they’d… hung out.”

Hiccup had some idea of why this was, though he could hardly blame Heather for wanting to keep Astrid to herself. He didn’t mention it, instead saying, “Here’s the place.” He held the door for her and then followed her into the little corner diner. The hostess seated them in a booth, and while Astrid looked through her menu, Hiccup found himself watching her. It was the first time they’d been out in public together, and while he knew it didn’t make any sense, just seeing her in a restaurant was weirdly novel to him. She chewed on her bottom lip as she examined the diner’s offerings; then, presumably feeling his eyes on her, she looked up to meet his gaze. 

“Do you already know what you’re going to get?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I used to come here pretty often. Do you know what you want?”

“I think so,” she said, closing her menu. Seeing this, a server came to their table for their order. Hiccup got his traditional iced coffee with biscuits and gravy and then watched as Astrid ordered an iced coffee and an omelet a la carte.

“You can definitely tell which of us is the athlete,” he remarked as the server walked away, and she snorted.

After a moment, Astrid looked up at him. “Are you jealous about last night?”

Hiccup shrugged, considering. Actually answering the question was out of the question, and he didn’t think it wise to clarify who it was she thought he might be jealous of. So he countered her unanswerable question with one that was equally so: “Do you want me to be jealous?” She ducked her head, and he continued, “It’s not like I have any grounds to be.”

She met his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine.”

“Here are your iced coffees,” the server said, setting the glasses down between them.

“Thanks,” Hiccup said with a smile. “Could we have some waters as well?”

“Of course,” the server said.

“I’m just glad you had fun,” Hiccup said when they were alone again. Which was true.

She smiled. “Thanks.” She hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

Hiccup was suddenly nervous. “Go ahead.”

“Just out of curiosity. How many people have you—”  
She cut herself off. “I’m sorry. That’s not any of my business.”

Hiccup gave a relieved chuckle. “That’s all right. Six.”

“All women?”

“Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “Not particularly. Like I said, I’m just curious.”

“All women,” he confirmed. “What about you? What’s your number?”

“Nine,” she said. He caught a worried light in her eyes, which told him more than anything else that she was telling the truth. He didn’t really care about the number; he’d asked mainly to reciprocate her curiosity. And he certainly didn’t care that her number was higher than his.

“What’s the differential?” he asked.

A smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “Four women, five men.”

“Wow,” he said. “You’ve slept with almost as many women as I have.”

She laughed, relief flashing in her eyes. 

The server set their food down in front of them, and they both murmured thanks. They were quiet as they ate, until Hiccup asked, “Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”

She shook her head. “I’m too intense for that. Most people can’t really handle it, especially guys. I think a big part of the reason my friends and I got so close is that we all get being the ambitious, intense one.”

“What about Heather?” he asked.

Astrid shrugged. “There’s nothing romantic there. The sex is just part of our friendship, and it always has been. She’s my best friend, but I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with her. You?”

Hiccup kept his eyes on his food as he ate. “I dated a girl for about a year in college, but it didn’t go anywhere. Heather and I started hooking up after it ended.”

Astrid’s phone buzzed on the table. “Speak of the dickens,” she said. ”It looks like they’re feeling better, and they want me to meet them at that big bookstore. Apparently, Abby is insisting we spend the morning there.”

Hiccup grinned. “It’s a good choice.”

“Do you know how to get there?” she asked.

He nodded. “I can walk you there.”

They finished eating quickly. When the server set the check down in front of them, Astrid reached for it. Hiccup was quicker, though, and he slipped his card into the folio.

“Are you sure?” Astrid asked. 

“Yeah, of course,” Hiccup said. “It’s the least I can do. I still owe you brunch at one of the hottest brunch spots in the city.”

“Well, I’ll make sure you pay up,” she said with mock severity.

They began walking toward the bookstore. “So what’s been going on with you?” Astrid asked.

“Oh, I had a job interview,” Hiccup said, trying to sound offhand. 

“How’d it go?” she asked eagerly. 

He sighed. “It was a wash. I guess the engineering firm is owned by a company that is owned by a guy my dad used to know, and he put his foot down when he found out.”

“Why?”

“It sounds like this guy and my dad didn’t get along, and Dad is worried that if I worked for him, he might try to do something to retaliate.”

“Oh gosh,” Astrid said. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said. “I’m kind of relieved, though. I don’t know if I would have done well working with Viggo.”

“Viggo?”

“The guy who got me the interview. He was a TA my freshman year in college, and we sort of became friends, but we haven’t talked in years.”

“Did something… happen between you?”

Hiccup sighed. “No. But it seemed like he wanted it to, and I was really weirded out by that since I was eighteen and he was in his twenties.”

“Was it just the age thing?” she asked. 

“I mean, that and the fact he was a TA.”

He could see her wanting to ask the logical next question, but instead, she asked, “Why did you ask him to help you get a job?”

He shrugged. “I guess I was just desperate.” 

Astrid scoffed. “You’re way too early in your job search to get creepy-TA desperate.”

Hiccup gave a startled laugh. “I guess I just have to keep looking.” He realized he’d been venting. “Sorry, none of that is your problem.”

She took his arm in hers. “That’s what friends are for.”

He smiled at her. “Thanks.” A moment passed as they looked at each other. “Okay, so tell me about the girls I’m taking you to meet. There’s Heather, of course, and Abby and Natasha.”

“And Claire,” Astrid said.

“How do you know Claire?”

“She was the one who was with me when I tore up my leg.”

She left him across the street from the bookstore, where they could see the four women waiting just behind the glass doors. Before she left, she hugged him, and he held her close to him for a long moment. Then she was walking across the street. She waved to him, and he waved back.

Then he turned and began the long walk back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. Please leave a comment!


	4. The Dream

That night, for the first time in years, Astrid dreams about the fall.

She knows she’s dreaming, mostly because she hasn’t been in these mountains for two years, not since she started living in her college town year-round. But she can’t do anything about it, not like she’s always heard you’re supposed to be able to with lucid dreaming. She is powerless to stop herself as she runs down the path, as she looks over her shoulder to yell something at Claire, as she starts running backward on the path, laughing at Claire’s response. She sees the patch of shale several paces before she steps on it, turning to face forward again. As she slides, the momentum of her turn keeps going, and she hears a pop in her knee that is the only thing louder than Claire’s scream.

And then she’s on her side, sliding down the side of the mountain, her breath coming in sharp, ragged, whistling pants as she tries to find something to grab onto. But there’s nothing, even as her hands scrabble at dirt and rocks. She hears herself laughing hysterically. For just a second she feels like she’s flying, before she hits the path below and pitches face-first onto her stomach. It knocks the wind out of her, and for an awful, adrenaline-soaked moment she’s sure she’s broken something—something big—but as Claire’s running footsteps come thudding down the trail toward her, she finds she can roll onto her back.

The next thing she knows, Claire is standing over her, looking down at her, aghast. For just a second, as her blue-gray eyes well up with tears, they shift to bright, rich green, and the dark brown curls of her hair are short and straight and floppy. Astrid sees Hiccup as he must have been all those years ago, not long after he’d lost his foot. He’s shorter than he is now, a lot shorter, but still gangly somehow, and his front teeth are more prominent. Then, for just a breath, he’s the Hiccup she knows, looking down at her with shining eyes. “Astrid, it’s gonna be okay,” he says, but on the last word his voice turns into Claire’s again, and she says, “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

The dark curls are spilling loose from their ponytail as she leans down and pulls Astrid’s arm around her shoulders. With a great, sustained heave, she pulls Astrid to her feet, both of them grunting with the effort. Astrid tries to help, but she can’t put any weight on her right leg, or even really get it under her. “I’m sorry,” she says over and over.

“You’re fine,” Claire says.

Blood is dripping onto the path from Astrid’s leg.

Astrid’s waking mind remembers every excruciating second of the slow, hobbling walk back to Claire’s car, but for some reason the dream spares her this. She is lying in the back seat of Claire’s car, bleeding on the upholstery as her friend drives. Her shorts are torn, held together mostly by the drawstring waistband, and she can feel blood soaking into her shirt. 

“Hiccup,” she gasps, and Claire twists to give her a questioning look.

“What—”

And then she’s waking up in her room in her parent’s house, and he’s there. His hand is on her scar, and his head lowers, and oh, _gods…_

She wakes up in the hospital, and her whole right side feels like it’s covered in bandages. Claire’s sitting next to the bed, dozing, in clean clothes that her mother brought because the ones she’d been wearing were covered in blood. 

Astrid’s head swivels toward the door, where her mom had been standing when she’d woken up, but her mother isn’t standing there now. Instead, green eyes flash from a narrow, anxious face.

She sits up, gasping, in her apartment in the city. She’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, warm despite the fact that she’s only wearing a tank top and shorts. The bed next to her is empty—Heather is staying at the hotel tonight. 

Astrid throws the cover off and looks down at her leg. The scar is there, unchanged, pink and shiny against her leg, just as it has been for over half a decade. 

She checks her phone. It’s three in the morning. Vaguely, already half-asleep again, she wonders if Hiccup is awake. Before she can do anything about the thought, she has pulled her blankets back up and snuggled into her pillow. She slips back into sleep without dreams, and does not wake again before the morning. She doesn’t remember much about the dream, only that it was about the fall. 

The next morning, after she drops the girls off at the airport, she drives out to the training facility in the suburbs, where the team is starting the day with a yoga class. She hurriedly changes into calf-length leggings and a loose shirt, but as she walks into the room, she realizes she didn’t need to rush. Hannah and Rachel are the only ones there, stretching together on one side of the room. 

“Hey, Astrid,” Hannah says, patting the floor next to her. 

“Hey,” Astrid says. She walks over and lays her yoga mat out next to Hannah’s. Rachel, on Hannah’s other side, offers her a reserved smile, which she returns. It would appear that trying to stay out of Rachel’s hair for the past few weeks has done some good. 

“So how was your weekend?” Hannah asks.

“It was good,” Astrid said. “It was really nice to see my friends.”

“I bet,” says Rachel. It’s the first civil thing she’s said to Astrid. “They seem cool.”

“I heard a rumor someone saw you getting brunch with a guy yesterday,” Hannah says teasingly. “Did you have a sleepover after you and your friends parted ways on Saturday?”

“Who told you that?” Astrid asks.

“A friend of mine,” Hannah says. “I showed her some of your college tapes, and she recognized you.”

Astrid thanks her lucky stars that Hiccup isn’t as recognizable as she is, especially not to those who aren’t intimately familiar with the Valkyries. Blushing, she switches her split to the other side. “I did have a sleepover,” she admits, “but not with him. He’s just a friend from college.”

“Who was the sleepover with, then?” Rachel asks.

“My friend Heather.”

“The one with the black hair?” Hannah asks.

Astrid nods.

“Nice,” says Rachel appreciatively.

Hannah starts working out the tightness in her shoulders. “So do the two of you have a thing, or…”

“No,” Astrid says. “It’s just casual.”

“And this guy,” Rachel says. “Is he just casual too?”

Something in her voice makes Astrid feel a sliver of doubt about Rachel’s newfound friendliness. “No,” she says more firmly. “He and I haven’t ever done anything like that.” Which is true. They haven’t even gotten to second base. 

The room has been filling up as they’ve been talking. Hannah opens her mouth to ask another question, but at that moment, the yoga instructor walks in. “Good morning, ladies,” she says in a carrying voice. “Let’s get started.”

As she settles into the familiar flow, Astrid can’t help but smile to herself. Hiccup was right—her teammates seem to like her a lot more now that they have something to talk about that isn’t work. At least, Rachel and Hannah do. Hopefully the rest of the team won’t be too far behind.

In the relative privacy of downward dog, she grins.

This is working.

* * *

This wasn’t working.

Hiccup sighed in frustration, hitting _undo_ over and over in the 3D printing software. The simple fact of the matter was that his 3D printer just wasn’t big enough to make something the length of an adult human man’s calf, and printing it out in pieces and then fitting the pieces together wouldn’t fit his vision for what he wanted it to be. 

He’d been working on it for hours, hitting wall after wall, but carrying on doggedly. It wasn’t like he could do much else. He’d barely slept since Sunday night, when he’d had that dream about losing his foot. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had triggered it, but since then he’d been so anxious about it that he’d been avoiding sleep to keep from having another one, which wasn’t helping the anxiety. He’d barely left his room in three days, which he knew wasn’t helping either. 

Hiccup gave the printer a sidelong look. His dad had given it to him for his birthday a few weeks ago, and so far it had done very well with helping him make miniatures of the machines he’d been designing. He’d hoped to make a prosthetic with it, but it just wasn’t working. 

He stood, sending his desk chair spinning across the floor, and strode over to his bed, where he flopped facedown. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, fueled by frustration and lack of sleep, and tried to take deep breaths with his face pressed into the mattress.

There was a knock on his door, and his dad’s voice said, “Son?”

He ignored it, as he had every attempt his father had made to establish contact these past couple days, and after a few seconds he heard his dad’s footsteps going back downstairs.

His phone buzzed against his hip. He pulled it from his pocket. His father had messaged: _Are you okay in there?_

He texted back: _I’m fine._

Hiccup lay there facedown for a while longer, his phone next to his head. Then it buzzed again. He lifted his head and looked at it.

This time it was Astrid. _We should hang out. I want to talk to you._

He sat up, sitting cross-legged on his bed. _What, now?_

_Yes, now. Do you have something else going on?_

_I mean, no._

_Great. I’ll be there in 15 minutes to pick you up._

He sighed. _Do you have my address?_

_I do. I’ll see you soon._

Hiccup flopped again, this time onto his back. Fifteen minutes.

He looked down at himself, and was suddenly aware of how disgusting he was. He hadn’t showered or changed clothes since Sunday night. It was Wednesday now. His hair was greasy, as were his eyelids when he rubbed at them, and there was definitely a smell. The inside of his mouth tasted absolutely disgusting. He passed his hand over his face, and sure enough, there was a three-day growth of stubble.

With a muffled curse, he launched himself out of bed and rushed out of his room. “Son?” Stoick called, but the bathroom door was already slamming shut behind Hiccup. He shed his pajamas and prosthetic, got in the shower, and started scrubbing furiously at his hair and body, not caring that the water was too hot. He had a little shower chair, but he’d gotten good at balancing over the years. Once he was thoroughly sudsed, he stood under the water and let it rinse away the soap along with the grime. He was glad now for the heat of the water; it made it feel like it was doing more to clean him. When he had managed a creditable imitation of a shower, he turned off the water and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist. With a hand towel, he wiped out the socket of his prosthetic and eased his leg into it, feeling the suction take hold. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, and thought, as he did so often, that this was as good as it was going to get. 

Wearing only his towel, with his pajamas under his arm, he hurried back to his room. He checked his phone. Only six minutes left. Fortunately, he didn’t have to think much about what to wear—he grabbed a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark green sweater, then put on a pair of burgundy sneakers. He ruffled the towel through his hair and trotted downstairs, patting his pockets to make sure he had keys, phone, and wallet.

“Hiccup?” his dad asked. He was sitting on the couch in the den, watching an episode of an old TV show. “Where are you going?”

“Just out with a friend,” Hiccup said, pausing in the doorway. “I might be back late, so don’t wait up for me.” As he turned and walked toward the front door, the starship on the TV jumped to warp speed.

The sound on the TV didn’t stop as he opened the front door, just in time to see Astrid pull into the driveway. She waved—not at him, but at someone behind him. He turned to see his dad standing in the open door. Stoick waved back at Astrid before leveling a suspicious look at Hiccup, who merely waved as he climbed into Astrid’s passenger seat.

“Good day, milady,” he said, buckling his seatbelt. 

“Hi,” she said. Her eyes went straight to his still-damp hair. “Did you just get out of the shower?”

“I was just about to hop in when you texted,” he said, acutely aware of how bad he was at lying.

“The scruff looks good,” she said, pulling back out onto the road. “I like it.”

He ran his hand over his face again. “You don’t mean that.”

She laughed, though not unkindly. “No, I don’t. I’ve seen worse, though.”

“So where are you taking me?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Do you want to get dinner or something?”

“I could eat. Are you hungry?”

His stomach answered before he could, rumbling loudly. He hadn’t eaten all day. “I think that’s safe to say,” he admitted. “Do you have any food constraints you need to stick to?”

She shrugged. “Not really, as long as it’s not fast food or anything.”

“Okay, I think I know a place,” he said.

Astrid grinned. “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said, but she was still smiling.

“Take a left at that stop sign,” he said.

She did so. “What have you been up to?”

“Messing around with my 3D printer,” he said. “Oh, and I finished the show.”

“That was fast.” She shot him a look, obviously concerned, though she tried to hide it. “You have a 3D printer?” she asked, rather than press the issue.

“Yeah, my dad got it for me for my birthday.”

“Wait, when was your birthday?”

He smiled. “Well, technically I didn’t have one this year.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t have a birthday?” she asked.

“Right at the next light,” he said. 

As they approached, the light turned red, and Astrid furrowed her brow, looking at him as she waited for an opportunity to turn. “Leap year?”

Hiccup nodded. “Yup. Every four years I get to throw a nice big party.”

“What do you do on non-birthday years?” she asked, turning.

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Video games, beers, buddies.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Go to my dad’s work parties and fail spectacularly at trying to stay out of the way.”

“That was your birthday?!” she exclaimed. “You got drunk and made out with someone at a party for your dad’s soccer team… on your _birthday?_”

“Well, the day after I celebrated it.” At her look, he said, slightly defensively, “I didn’t have a birthday.”

She sighed in exasperation.

“That’s the place,” he said, pointing.

“It’s a food truck,” she said.

“We’re going somewhere else to actually eat,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “We are?”

He shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to.”

They ended up at a park a couple miles from Hiccup’s house, on a bench at the top of a hill, overlooking not only the park but the whole city. Once they finished eating, they watched the sunset slowly paint the buildings and bridges and river below them in reds and oranges and pinks. They were truly into spring now, but there was still a chill in the air. Astrid drew closer to him on the bench until their shoulders were brushing. He didn’t mind, not least for the warmth. He even dared to lean into her a little. 

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

She looked into his face for a moment. “I think we should start taking this public.”

He laughed. “Take what public? Being friends? We should stand up in front of my dad and Gobber and everyone at the first Valkyries game and tell them we’ve been hanging out?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Part of what you suggested when we first started doing this was to allow others to see us and assume what they would. Specifically that we were something other than just friends.”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“So we start doing that,” she said. “And we let people see what they want to.”

“Why now?” he asked.

“Because it’s working,” she said. “Even now, when we’re not meaning for it to. Rachel Denbrough actually said something nice to me at yoga the other day.”

Rachel’s angry hazel eyes flashed in Hiccup’s head. “Rachel Denbrough was nice? To you?”

Astrid nodded. “I know, it’s weird. But someone saw us getting breakfast, and they recognized me but not you. Rachel and Hannah asked me about it.”

“And you think the effect could be intensified if we were more… public?”

She nodded again. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked. “We’ve already ruled out kissing.”

“You can show affection without kissing,” she said. “Especially if you’re not already known as someone who does a lot of PDA.”

“So what exactly do you want me to do?”

Astrid shrugged. “Come to my games. All the home ones, and whichever of the away games are convenient. I get that might be less doable once you get a job, but you still need to make an effort. And we should be seen out in public together at least a couple times a week besides the games.”

“And in private?” he asked.

“We’ll still be friends,” she said. “Like we are now.” Perhaps it was the fading light, or maybe he was just imagining things, but he thought her eyes flicked away from his toward his lips. “And I think maybe we could relax the kissing thing a little. In public, that is. Just cheek kisses and stuff when it seems appropriate.”

Hiccup arched his eyebrows at her. “Do you kiss all your friends on the cheek? Heather doesn’t count.”

She snorted. “Trust me, I wouldn’t count her. And for your information, yes, I do.”

“So what about now?” he asked. “Is this public or private?”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment he saw an odd glimmer of vulnerability that vanished when she blinked. “Public,” she breathed. 

His hand cupped the back of her neck. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his face to hers and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He kept his lips there for the length of a long breath in. 

She smelled so good. 

As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but smile at the slightly stunned look on her face. 

“Affectionate enough for you?” Hiccup asked.

Astrid nodded. “I think that’ll work. Shave next time though.”

“That’s fair,” he admitted, feeling his stubble again. “Your first game is the Saturday after next, right?”

She nodded, and for the first time, she looked nervous. “Ten days. We should have a date before then, though.”

“Will you have time?”

“I’ll make time,” she said. “And it’ll be important to start planting seeds before the season starts.”

“That makes sense.” He looked at her face for another moment as she looked contemplatively out over the city. “Hey, Astrid?”

“Hmm?” she asked absently.

“I think we make a good team.”

She looked at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I think so too.”

That night, he had the dream again.

* * *

The roar of the crowd is deafening even before they run out onto the pitch. 

“All right, ladies, let’s huddle up,” Hannah says, and they do so, standing in a tight ring in the middle of the locker room. Astrid is squished between Jen Lopez and Jessica Holmes, two of the other midfielders, as Hannah begins her pep talk.

“Okay, who’s nervous?” she asks. There’s no room for any of them to raise their hands, but Astrid sees, looking around the circle, that she is far from the only one who would. “That’s okay,” Hannah says. “I am too. Use those nerves. Win or lose, this game is how we’re gonna start the season. For some of you, it’s the first time you’ve played on a professional field.” She locks eyes with Astrid and then the other two new players. “Don’t let your nerves make you make stupid mistakes. It’s the same game, just with more people watching.” Jen, on Astrid’s left, gives her an encouraging smile, which Astrid returns despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. 

“You know the rules, you know the plays,” Hannah goes on. “Now let’s go kick some ass.” The women give shouts of agreement, for just a moment drowning out the crowd outside.

“Valkyries on three!” Hannah cries. “One—two—three—”

“VALKYRIES!”

As one, they rush out of the locker room onto the pitch. Vaguely, Astrid hears Wagner playing over the PA system. Her heart is pounding. 

As the team appears, the crowd gets even louder, and Astrid knows it’s audible blocks away from here. She lets herself bask in the cheers for just a moment. She’s been dreaming of this since she was a little girl, and now all of it—the dreaming, the long practice sessions, her knee injury, the sweat—is coming to fruition.

A long, hearty whoop rises above the rest of the crowd noise, and Astrid turns to see Hiccup on his feet at the front of the owner’s box. Seated beside him, Stoick is looking up at him with a slightly bewildered look. 

“Holy shit,” Jen mutters next to her. “Someone’s had his evening coffee.”

Astrid can’t help but grin as she looks at him. He’s wearing a steel-blue jersey just like hers, and though she can’t see his back, she knows that her name is spread across his shoulders. She didn’t explicitly tell him to be so enthusiastic with his cheering, but she appreciates it nonetheless.

He waves at her, and she waves back. Again, she wonders why Heather never introduced them while they were all at college, the way she did with plenty of other guys. But then, she reasons, it’s not like she can blame Heather for wanting to keep him to herself.

“Hofferson! Head in the game!” barks Hannah.

“Sorry,” Astrid says, jogging to her place on the field.

The woman standing opposite her is a few inches shorter than Astrid, and broader in the shoulder. She decides she’ll have to use speed and dexterity to evade her, using her longer legs to help her cover the distance—or to get in the woman’s way. Whichever one the situation calls for.

Far from being intimidated, the woman is matching Astrid stare for stare, brushing her bangs back from her forehead. Her lips curl in a confident smirk, and Astrid has only a moment to think that perhaps she’s misjudged this woman before the referee blows his whistle and the game begins. Hannah passes the ball back to Jessica Holmes, who begins dribbling it forward across the pitch.

The first half of the game is mostly a blur. Astrid discovers quickly that her opponent is a good deal faster than she looks. At one point, Jen passes the ball in Astrid’s directions, but the short woman slips in front of her and scoops the ball away as deftly as if Astrid were a toddler. Astrid feels like she could scream in frustration, and it’s made even worse when the woman shoots a grin over her shoulder that is the twin of the one Astrid’s used countless times to goad her opponents. She feels like she’s been knocked off balance, and she’s never quite able to right herself.

Somehow, they manage to keep the other team from scoring. At halftime, as Astrid is sitting on a bench in the locker room when Hannah comes up to stand in front of her. 

“Hofferson, remember what I said about making stupid rookie mistakes?” she snaps. “One of those mistakes is assuming you’ve got your opponent’s measure before the game’s even begun.”

Astrid glares up at her, sullen even though she knows Hannah’s right. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re better than that,” Hannah says. “Now go and prove it. And don’t assume you know what you’re up against.”

Astrid takes a deep breath and lets it out, looking down at her shoes. When she looks up again, Hannah gives her a nod and moves on. 

Rachel Denbrough is studying Astrid from down the bench, but she doesn’t say anything. 

As the team troops back onto the field, Astrid does her best to shed the frustration of the first half. She’s not sure how successful she is, but seeing the opposing midfielder doesn’t stir up the same frantic anger as before, only a heated sort of determination. She spares a glance for Hiccup and finds that his eyes are on her. He smiles, and she nods in response.

The whistle blows again, and play begins anew. This time Astrid watches her opponent closely as the teams vie for control of the ball, the way she didn’t have time to in the first half. She keeps her steps light and her face impassive, and after a while she begins to see her opponent getting frustrated at her lack of frustration. 

And then, finally, she sees it—the way her opponent plants her foot when she guesses which way Astrid’s going to run. Most of the time, she guesses correctly, and whatever play Astrid’s trying to help with fizzles out. But if she were to guess wrong…

And then it happens. One of the opposing defenders tries to pass the ball, but her aim is thrown off by Hannah’s attempt to steal it. The ball goes spinning off, and Astrid sees an opening. She feints to her right, does a quick switch-step, and darts forward. She hears a gasp from her opponent, but the other woman’s planted foot makes her just a breath too slow to cut Astrid off.

She gets to the ball and dribbles it forward a few yards. The other team’s defenders are starting to break away from Astrid’s teammates. Just short of the penalty box, Astrid stops dribbling, scoots the ball forward, and rushes forward to kick it as hard as she can.

Astrid knows supporters from both sides are shouting and cheering, but for a moment the stadium is absolutely silent to her. The whole world is just her and the ball.

The goalie leaps, reaching, stretching every possible inch out of her arms and fingers—but even so, the ball is out of her reach. It sinks into the top right corner of the net, and for another moment Astrid stands there in the quiet, thankful for the millions of times she’s practiced that kick.

Then the sound comes rushing back in, along with her teammates. Hannah is the first one to get to her, and she flings her arms around Astrid’s neck. “That’s my girl!” she shouts.

Astrid’s grin starts as one of genuine pleasure, but as she turns back to the opposing midfielder, it shifts into the smug, goading thing she’s used so many times.

And it works; she sees the other woman’s jaw clench.

It’s the first goal of the game, and the Valkyries’ first goal of the season. And Astrid’s the one who scored it. 

The Valkyries manage one more goal, as does the other team. The game, when it ends, is a victory—one they’ve fought hard for.

As the team is celebrating in the locker room, Gobber comes in, meeting a wave of cheers at his appearance. “Well done, ladies,” he says, his voice squeaking as he fights back tears. 

A moment later, Stoick bursts in. There are hugs and handshakes all round, and the volume of voices in the room increases past the point Astrid would have thought possible. Hiccup comes in behind him, but he hangs back, his eyes going straight to Astrid. He looks at her so intently, a small smile on his face, that she feels herself blush. The people nearest her see her blush and turn to follow her gaze back to Hiccup.

That should get them talking. 

In Hiccup’s eyes, Astrid can see the romance they’re projecting for their audience—but, beneath that, there’s a glimmer of friendly mischief.

And there’s something else there too, something she can’t quite place. Whatever it is, she can’t look away from it. 

Astrid smiles too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a review. 
> 
> Also: I will be taking a couple weeks off from this fic. There will be a couple one-shots set on New Berk in the meantime, with the next chapter for this one coming out the first weekend in January.


	5. The Mansion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Welcome back, and thanks for your patience!

Astrid seemed to have latched on to the idea of helping Hiccup get a job.

Over the next week, their “date nights” invariably ended with the two of them on her loveseat, both combing through job boards until one of two things happened. Either they would start coming across the same ads Hiccup had applied to the last time they did this, or Hiccup would get so fed up with answering the same inane questions over and over that he’d snap his laptop shut and lean back, sighing with exasperation.

He didn’t mind spending the time with her; far from it, he was glad for the excuse to get out of his room. His dad wasn’t taking well to the idea of Hiccup dating Astrid, and was trying to keep Hiccup at arm’s length from the team. Hiccup didn’t mind so much about that, since it had been one of the main purposes of him and Astrid pretending to date, but it had put more than a little strain on his relationship with his dad. Rather than subject himself to tense silences and too-careful conversations where Stoick avoided any mention of soccer, relationships, or work in general, he hardly left his room when his dad was home.

The owner’s son dating one of the players wasn’t officially forbidden in the Valkyries’ code of conduct, though Hiccup was fairly sure that would change when his dad sat down with his lawyers for his yearly revision of that code once the season had ended. But Stoick didn’t have to like it just because it wasn’t against the rules. And since he couldn’t dictate what they did in their personal time, he kept them apart when it concerned the team. Which meant that he was no longer trying to get Hiccup more involved.

Of course, he hadn’t spoken to Hiccup directly about any of it.

The other goal seemed to be going well too, from what Astrid had told him. While many of her teammates had been teasing her, it had been mostly good-natured, and a good deal better than the icy silence they’d mostly given before. She’d even begun hanging out with two of the other midfielders outside of work.

Hiccup wasn’t sure if this was actually because of the perception that they were dating, or just because he was giving her practice at talking to people. Either way, he was glad for it.

“Are we done for the night?” Astrid asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He lowered his hands from his face, sighing again. “I think so. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s weird you haven’t heard back from anyone, though, right? I mean, how many of these have we sent out?”

“About a hundred,” he said. It wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Well, we’ve just got to keep trying,” she said, but even she sounded tired. 

Hiccup leaned forward and put his laptop on the coffee table. 

“I wonder why we haven’t heard back, though. You’re really well suited for all the positions you’ve applied to.”

He sighed. “I don’t know, Astrid.”

“Do you think that Viggo guy might have something to do with it?”

“How do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Well, does he have enough clout that if he told people not to hire you, they’d listen to him?”

“Do you—are you suggesting he blacklisted me?” he asked incredulously. 

“I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sure there’s another reason. And I don’t even know if Viggo would want to do that. It’s like you said, we just have to keep trying.” He sighed. “Not tonight, though.”

“Not tonight,” Astrid agreed, shutting her laptop as well. She checked her phone. “Damn, it’s late,” she said. “No wonder you’re burnt out.”

Hiccup pulled out his phone as well. It was well past midnight. “Oh, gods,” he groaned. “ My dad’s gonna kill me if I get home this late.”

“So don’t go home,” Astrid said.

“What?”

“Stay here for the night,” she said. “I mean, we’ve been ‘dating’ for a while now. It’s not unreasonable for you to stay over. And you took the ALEX, right? So you don’t have to worry about parking.”

“I guess,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll sleep down here.”

“Obviously,” she said. “I’ll grab you a pillow.”

She disappeared upstairs for a moment, and when she returned, she handed him a pillow before heading into the bathroom. Hiccup got comfortable on the loveseat. When she came back out, he was pulling a throw over himself. It had previously been laid out over the back of the loveseat.

She paused in front of him on her way back upstairs. “Do you need anything?” she asked.

“I’m good. Thanks, though. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said, flicking the lights off as she went upstairs.

Hiccup lay awake for a while after Astrid’s lamp upstairs had switched off, waiting for his brain to do the same. Predictably, his thoughts drifted to Astrid, as they usually tended to when he was trying to sleep. It was hard to believe she was asleep just upstairs.

Finally, he was lulled by the sounds of her breathing and shifting around in bed, and slowly drifted off.

He was woken by a pair of hands that grabbed his shoulders firmly but gently. “Hiccup, wake up,” Astrid was saying anxiously.

Hiccup opened his eyes and saw her, leaning over him, softly lit from behind by the reading lamp next to the loveseat. Her hair was loose, hanging down around her face in soft golden waves that seemed almost to glow. It was the first time he’d seen her hair down since the party. Still half-asleep, he reached up and ran the fingers of one hand through her hair.

“Astrid?” he asked groggily.

“Are you okay?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah,” he said, letting his hand fall. “What—” Then he remembered. “Oh. I was dreaming about—” he gestured vaguely at his leg. “Did I wake you?”

“Obviously,” she said, a touch tartly. Her voice softened as she said, “You screamed.”

“Sorry,” he said. “That doesn’t usually happen anymore. I think sleeping with my prosthetic on might have made it worse.” It usually did.

“Why were you sleeping with your prosthetic on?” she demanded.

He hesitated. “It’s just—I don’t like people seeing me without it.”

She sighed, sitting down next to his legs on the sofa. “How often do you have dreams like that?” she asked. 

“A lot less often than I did when it first happened, but I’ve been having an upswing lately,” he said, trying to inject the last words with some degree of irony.

“Have you spoken to anyone about it?” she asked.

“You mean, like a therapist?”

She nodded. 

“When it first happened, I did, but it’s been a while.”

“It sounds like it might be worth giving it another try,” she said.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s no big deal,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She paused. “You know, I’ve always found that sleeping next to someone keeps me from having that kind of dream.”

“Astrid—”

“So,” she continued, “you can either come upstairs, or I’ll grab my pillow and blanket and join you down here.”

He sighed. “May as well go for the bed.”

She smiled. “Good call.” She stood, and for the first time Hiccup noticed that she was wearing only a white tank top and a pair of blue plaid pajama shorts.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

She looked down at him levelly. “If I was afraid you were going to try something, I wouldn’t have let you sleep in my apartment. Come on.” She turned and started back up the steps. “And bring your pillow.”

He obeyed, turning off the lamp as he passed. She was waiting for him upstairs. The covers on her bed had been hastily thrown aside; now she stood by the bed. Her eyebrows drew together when she saw him.

“You had your jeans on too?” she asked. “No wonder you were uncomfortable.”

He cleared his throat. 

She rolled her eyes. “I won’t look. Just get in bed.” With that, she turned her back to him.

He dropped his pants and sat on the edge of the bed to take off his prosthetic. Laying his pillow on the unoccupied side of the bed, he crawled into place and pulled the covers up to his chin. “You can turn back around,” he said dryly.

She lay down next to him and reached to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” she said into the darkness, tucking herself under the blankets with her back to him.

Hiccup turned onto his side, facing away from her. “Goodnight.” Then, a moment later, he said, “Astrid?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

The mattress shifted, and a moment later her hair was tickling his face as she kissed him on the cheek. “Of course. Now go to sleep.”

It seemed she really did kiss her friends on the cheek. 

They both fell asleep quickly. As they dozed off, they were on opposite sides of the bed with their backs to each other, but they didn’t stay that way for long.

* * *

Astrid wakes up wrapped in a man’s arms. Her back is cradled softly against his chest, and she is deeply confused. She hasn’t slept with a guy, in any sense of the word, since before she moved here.

Opening her eyes, she sees that the skin on the arm beneath her head is pale and freckly, and the breath tickling her shoulder doesn’t seem like it’s coming from someone too much taller than her. 

Slowly, she remembers talking Hiccup into staying over last night, and then making him sleep in her bed after he woke her up with his nightmare. He certainly seems comfortable enough now.

She can feel him shifting slightly, starting to wake up. Slowly, gently, she extricates himself from his arms and sits up on the edge of the bed. 

“Astrid?” he says sleepily behind her, and before she can turn to look at him, his fingers brush against her back through the thin cotton of her tank top. The touch, light though it is, feels like it sparks against her, and she sits straight up like she’s been shocked, gasping slightly. 

“Astrid?” he says again, sounding somewhat more awake now. “Are you okay?”

She twists and looks at him over her shoulder. His hair is mussed, and there’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m—” she begins as her eyes drift down along his body to where she can see he’s wearing dark blue boxer-briefs—dark blue boxer-briefs that are rapidly tightening.

“I’m fine,” she says, hurriedly averting her eyes and standing up. She trots downstairs, hearing him mutter a curse behind her. 

“Sorry,” he calls down to her. “It’s just because—”

“I know,” she half-shouts back before he can continue. “Don’t worry about it.”

She goes into the bathroom, shuts the door, and gets in the shower. That was definitely just morning wood, she tells herself as she shampoos her hair, just part of his body waking up. And his reaction seems to corroborate that. 

But just for one moment, she thinks, _what if it wasn’t?_ What if he actually—

That train of thought isn’t going anywhere good.

It’s only when she’s getting out of the shower and toweling herself off that she realizes taking a shower may have been an error. She can hear Hiccup moving around in the kitchen, between her and her clothes upstairs. She wraps her towel securely around herself and wraps her hair up in a second towel. Then she takes a deep breath and walks out.

He’s standing with his back to her, twisting a bag of sourdough bread shut. He’s wearing his prosthetic but not his jeans, and for the first time she gets a good look at the place where his prosthetic joins his leg. For the most part, the skin is smooth, unscarred, though of course she can’t really see the stump itself. It’s nothing like her leg.

He turns when he hears her open the door. “Hey. I wasn’t sure what you wanted for breakfast, but I figured avocado toast was probably safe.”

“You figured right,” she says, smiling. There’s a half-mashed avocado on a plate in front of him.

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” he asks.

“Go for it,” she says. “I’m just gonna go get dressed.”

“Could you grab my pants while you’re up there?”

“Sure thing.”

As she climbs the stairs, she’s not sure if she’s more gratified or offended that he hasn’t ogled her in her towel at all. She ought to be glad, but…

He has the toast plated when she comes back down. She’s wearing denim shorts and a red t-shirt, and she drapes his jeans over the arm of the loveseat.

“Thanks,” Hiccup says, bringing the avocado toast over. Now he looks at her legs, as he’s sitting down.

She takes a bite of her toast. “This is good,” she says when she’s swallowed it.

He grins. “Thanks. It’s a family recipe.”

She furrows her brow at him. 

“Of a sort, anyway. My cousin Snotlout made it while we were in college.”

She chokes on her next bite. “Your cousin what?”

He chuckles. “Snotlout. He’s a fairly distant relation; I think our moms were cousins.”

“Were?” She instantly regrets the question when she sees the way he averts his eyes.

“Oh, you don’t know,” he says. “Yeah, my mom died when I was really little.”

“I”m sorry,” she says. “For bringing it up, that is. And for your loss.”

“It’s okay,” he says, cracking a smile as he looks at her. “This feels awful to say, but I’m pretty used to it. I never really met her.”

She’s not sure what to say to that. There’s a few seconds of silence before he asks, “So what are your plans for the day?”

She shrugs. “Nothing concrete. Do you want to do something?”

“There is actually one thing,” he says. “There’s this big mansion in the hills, not too far from where I live. It was built by one of the city’s founders. I’ve always wanted to visit, but never have. I guess they do a tour, and there’s a hiking trail you can take up there.”

“Sounds like fun,” she says. “Do you think this is an appropriate outfit for visiting a mansion?”

He takes the opportunity to check her out, running his eyes up and down her body as he chews his toast. “I think so. Do you mind if we swing by my place so I can change?” 

“Sure,” she says, finishing off her toast. “Let’s get going.”

When Hiccup gets back in her car, half an hour later, his lips are tight and his nose is slightly scrunched in anger. 

“Did he—”

“Assume I slept with one of his ‘girls’ last night? Yeah,” he snaps.

She is quiet as she drives toward the start of the trail. The only sound in the car is the occasional instruction from the maps program on her phone. After a while, Hiccup sighs and says, “I’m sorry. It’s just hard—he always assumes I’m fucking up.”

“It’s okay,” she says gently. “I’m sorry you’re frustrated.”

“It’s not even that I’m frustrated,” he says. “But maybe he’s right. I mean, I haven’t been able to get a job, even with him taking up less of my time with the team, and it’s not like I’m doing anything to keep him from thinking—” he gestures vaguely.

“I don’t think he’s right,” Astrid says, driving up what her phone tells her is the last stretch of winding road. She pulls into a spot in a small parking lot that is really just a patch of dirt off the side of the road. “You’re doing your best, and you can’t blame yourself that it’s not working out yet. And neither can he.”

Hiccup chuckles sourly. “This, coming from you?”

Astrid shrugs. “We can’t all be weirdly driven and overly ambitious.”

He smiles. “Thanks. Quick question.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this outing public or private?”

“Private until we see someone we know?” she suggests.

He nods. “Okay.”

They set off up the path, and within a few minutes Astrid finds herself marveling at the fact that there’s this much green, this much untouched nature, just a few minutes from the city center. When she mentions this to Hiccup, he grins at her over his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s pretty remarkable,” he says. “It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about living here. Other cities just feel so gray in comparison.”

As they’re climbing the side of the hill, she decides to bring up the talk with his father again. “What were you doing to disappoint your dad before he started thinking we were… involved?”

“That’s a funny way of asking that,” he says. He’s ahead of her, so she can’t see his face. He pauses, then goes on, “I mean, I was drinking kind of a lot, and he was frustrated that I wasn’t more involved with the team.”

“But now he thinks you’re too involved,” she says. “Sounds like a hard man to please.”

He chuckles. “You have no idea.”

“But you’re not drinking anymore?”

Hiccup shrugs. “A lot less, anyway.”

“That’s good at least,” Astrid says. “Why aren’t you drinking as much?”

“Mostly because you don’t really drink, and I’ve been spending a lot of time with you.” He smiles at her. 

She can’t help but smile back. “Well, if it works, it works.”

“Why is it you don’t drink that much?” he asks.

She thinks about that for a second. “Honestly, I just don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“You don’t like being drunk?” His tone isn’t judgmental, just curious.

“I don’t like feeling like I’m out of control,” she admits. “Or being hungover.”

“I thought you drank too much water to get hangovers.”

She laughs. “Generally, I do.”

They’ve come to a place where the path suddenly jumps up several feet in a steep bank. Hiccup climbs up the bank ahead of her, braces himself, and reaches out a hand to help her up. She takes his hand, feeling something like electricity crackling between their palms, and lets him help her scramble up the bank.

“Did you feel like you were out of control the night we… the night of the party?” Hiccup asks, worry in his tone now, as he keeps walking. 

Astrid realizes what he’s trying to ask. “Not in a bad way,” she says, and she sees his shoulders relax. “Just a little more uninhibited than usual.”

He shoots a cocky grin at her. “You don’t say.”

They reach the top of the path not too long after, and both find themselves breathless, Hiccup from the last little bit of the climb, and Astrid from the view. It’s almost noon, and she’s never seen the city like this before, sparkling in the sunlight like a sea of glass beneath her. 

“They should be starting the next tour soon,” Hiccup says, offering his arm. “Shall we, milady?”

She doesn’t feel like much of a lady, damp with sweat as she is. And he doesn’t look like much of a gentleman in his track pants and t-shirt. But she says, “Let’s,” taking his arm in hers.

The house—the mansion—is old, older than the vast majority of the buildings in the city it overlooks. It’s not necessarily Astrid’s thing, but Hiccup enjoys it, and she enjoys watching him enjoy it. And after a while, she starts to see the same specialness in it that he does—that all this, chosen and built with care by people over a hundred years ago, is still here, mostly unchanged, generations later.

Once the tour is done, they end up on the terrace outside, looking down at the city again. 

“It’s really beautiful,” she says. 

“Yeah, it is,” Hiccup agrees. When she turns to look at him, he’s looking out over the city.

“Are you hungry?” she asks. 

“I could eat,” he says. “Want to go get some lunch?”

“Do they have a restaurant up here?” 

“I think so, but there’s another place I had in mind. If that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she says, letting him lead her back toward the path. “What is it with you and knowing places to go?”

He shrugs. “I guess I’ve just spent a lot of time in the city mostly alone, and that let me find a lot of places I like. Now that I have someone I spend a lot of time with, I figure I might as well show them—show you—the places I’ve found.”

At the steep bank where he helped her before, Hiccup goes down first and turns to make sure she gets down okay. It’s a good thing, too—she stumbles, and almost falls, but he catches her around the waist and keeps her on her feet. 

“Thanks,” she says, a little breathlessly.

“No problem.”

They’re still standing there, looking at each other with his hands on her waist, when movement at the corner of her eye makes Astrid turn her head to look. There are two figures coming around the corner, and she and Hiccup step apart. 

It’s Rachel and Hannah. 

Of course it is.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Hiccup says.

“Hi,” Hannah says, smiling at both of them. Astrid knows she isn’t terribly pleased with the relationship Astrid and Hiccup have been allowing everyone to think is going on, but she’s better at hiding it than Stoick is.

“Hey,” Rachel says, though she doesn’t smile.

“We’re just on our way to get lunch,” Astrid says. “Are you two visiting the mansion, or just hiking?”

“Just hiking,” Rachel says. Her eyes are fixed on Hiccup. “Nice pants.”

Looking at him, Astrid sees that the pants in question have a Valkyries logo on the outside of one thigh.

“Thanks,” Hiccup says. There’s a moment of silence. “Well, we’ll leave you to it,” he says awkwardly. 

As they pass on the path, Hannah smiles at both of them, a touch apologetically. 

“What was that about?” Astrid asks once they’re out of earshot. “She seemed even less happy to see you than me.”

“I’m not sure,” Hiccup says. The path is wide enough here for them to walk next to each other, so she can see his face. He’s embarrassed, as she might expect him to be. “I think she shares my father’s opinion of me.”

He’s being vague enough that she can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it any further. She decides to drop it, instead asking, “What are we doing for lunch?”

He grins at her, and she thinks she can see something like gratefulness in his face. 

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

As they get back in the car, Hiccup asks, “So when’s your birthday anyway?”

“You call yourself my fan, but you don’t know when my birthday is?”

He fastens his seatbelt and gives her a look of mock-reproach. 

She sighs. “It’s on May second. It’s a Thursday.”

“Are you doing anything?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Astrid,” he says, exasperated. “That’s less than two weeks away. How am I supposed to plan a fantastic birthday gift in ten days? Much less something to do.”

“You’re not,” she says, perplexed.

“But how are people supposed to believe we’re dating if I don’t?” He settles back in his seat, rubbing his chin musingly. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t want a big party.”

“If I did, I would have planned one,” she says, annoyed now. “Hiccup, nothing says you have to—”

“At least let me take you out to dinner.” Looking over, she sees he’s wearing an entreating look, with hope she can’t quite make herself squash. “Please?”

“Ugh, fine,” she says. “But just dinner.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask for anything more,” he says sardonically. He pulls his phone from his pocket, and a minute later says, “There. Reservation secured.”

* * *

A week later, Hiccup found himself standing at an open door on the second floor of a building across the river, in a part of the city where he hadn’t spent much time before.

He pulled out his phone to make sure he wasn’t too early, then gently rapped on the door frame.

A woman sitting at a desk opposite the door stood up and walked toward him. She was nearly a foot shorter than him. “Good afternoon,” she said, setting her reading glasses on top of her curly brown hair, peppered with gray. “Mr. Haddock, I presume?”

“That’s right. You can call me Hiccup.”

“I’m Angela,” she said, and they shook hands. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.” As she shut the door behind them, she gestured at a row of hooks on its back. “You can hang up your jacket if you like.” He did so before sitting in the chair opposite the one she’d taken.

“So tell me about yourself,” she said. 

“Well, I’ve been having this dream…”

“We’ll get to that,” Angela said. “First, what do you do for a living? What are you interested in? What do you like to do?”

“I’m not actually working right now.” He shrugged. “I guess the biggest thing is I like to make things.”

“What kind of things?” she asked.

“Oh, you know, just little inventions and gadgets, that kind of thing. They don’t have much purpose beyond my own amusement. I’ve been 3D printing some of them lately, and that’s been fun.”

“It sounds fun,” she said, smiling. “Is that the kind of thing you’d like to do for work?”

He nodded. 

“And what do you do when you’re not making things?”

“Not a lot,” Hiccup admitted. “I have a friend I’ve been hanging out with, and I’ve mostly been showing her around the city.”

“That sounds nice,” Angela said. “Is she pretty new here?”

“Yeah, she just moved here a couple months ago.”

“What’s your living situation like?”

“I’m living at home with my dad.”

She nodded. “So this dream. You said a little about it on the phone, but would you mind reiterating?”

“Sure,” he said. “When it starts, I’m—it’s basically what happened when I lost my foot.”

“Are you comfortable talking about that?” she asked.

He nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I was fifteen, and my dad had taken me hiking in Iceland for our summer vacation. We were hiking up the side of a volcano when it started rumbling—it actually erupted a few months later—and a boulder above us came loose. I tried to get out of the way, but I tripped and ended up falling a couple hundred feet down the mountain. I hit my head on a rock and came to as my dad was lifting a boulder, a different one than the one that had first started falling, off my leg. He carried me back to the place where we’d camped the night before and used his satellite phone to call in a helicopter, but by the time we got to a hospital, the foot was too badly crushed to save. So, peg leg,” he said, sticking out his left leg. 

“That must have been a pretty big rock,” she said. “Your dad sounds like he’s pretty strong.”

“Yeah, he’s a big guy,” Hiccup said. He’d been staring at his knees as he told the story, and now he looked up at her. She was studying him intently.

“Does it happen in the dream like it did in real life?” 

He nodded.

“And you said you’re having the dream more recently now?” 

He nodded again.

“What does that mean?” she asked. “How often did you have it before?”

“Maybe once every few months. Less than that the last couple years,” he said. “Lately, it’s been a couple times a week.”

“Why do you think that might be? What’s changed recently?”

He shrugged, sighing. “I mean, mostly this friend. We’ve been hanging out for a few weeks now. She’s actually the one who suggested I come to see you.”

“Did you tell her about the dream?” Angela asked.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I was—um, I was staying the night at her apartment, and I woke her up.”

“You were staying the night?” she asked. “Are you two involved?” He studied her anxiously for a moment, but there didn’t seem to be any judgment in the question.

“No,” he said. “At least—we’re not sleeping—it’s hard to explain.” As he tried to, he felt more and more spilling out, until he’d told her everything.

“Okay,” she said when he was finished. “Help me understand. When you came to her with the offer to—well, not pretend to date, exactly, but to let people make assumptions about two people hanging out, were you afraid she wouldn’t want to spend time with you unless it seemed like it was doing something for her?”

“Not afraid, exactly,” Hiccup said. “I just wanted to make it worth her while.”

“Does she seem to think it’s worth her while?”

He nodded. “I mean, the plan’s working. Or it would be, if I could get a job.”

“Does she only hang out with you when it has to do with the plan?” Angela asked.

“No,” he said, “we hang out all the time, even when we’re not around people. She’s been helping me look for jobs.”

Angela clasped her hands in her lap. “Hiccup, have you considered the possibility that she might just like you?”

“I—what?”

“I don’t necessarily mean in a romantic way, but it doesn’t seem like she’s interested in you just for what you can do for her. She cares about you.”

Hiccup could only stare at her. 

“It’s quite common, when we’re feeling insecure or inadequate, to reflect on, and even dream about, events in the past that we see as the roots of those feelings. Do you often feel like you’re not living up to people’s expectations? Your dad’s, for example?”

He nodded. “His especially.”

“And that’s normal at your age. But at least with your friend, you might try worrying less about being good enough for her. She clearly seems to think you are.” Angela glanced at the clock. “We’re just about out of time.”

“Do you think I am?” he asked. He hadn’t planned to, and the vulnerability he could hear in his own voice was startling to him.

“Do I think you’re what?”

“Good enough. For her.”

Angela smiled. “From what you’ve told me, I’m inclined to think so. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think. And what she thinks.” She looked at the clock again. “And now we really are out of time. My next patient will be here in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Hiccup stood. “Thank you for meeting with me,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. She cleared her throat. “So what I’ll do is bill your insurance, then send you an invoice for any remaining balance, okay? And give me a call if you’d like to meet again.”

He smiled. “Sounds good. Thanks for your time.” They shook hands again, and then he was walking out of the building and onto the street. 

He hadn’t been sure what to expect. The dreams hadn’t felt like they did right after the accident, when the trauma was still fresh, and Angela seemed to pick up on that.

He hoped she was right about Astrid.

Because of course it was about Astrid. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t seen that before.

He walked on, his heart feeling strangely light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it. Don’t forget to leave a comment!


	6. The Red Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Astrid inadvertently breaks the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so long! The birthday section was supposed to be short.

Astrid tugs nervously at her dress.

She’s standing at the end of a hallway on the top floor of a hotel downtown, just out of sight of the hostess’ podium. She’s gotten to the restaurant a little early, so she’s not worried that Hiccup’s not here yet, but a sharp, anxious edge inside her hopes he gets here soon.

Not for the first time, she wonders what she’s doing. Whatever plausible deniability they might have had on any of their previous outings is a lot more of a stretch with this one. There’s a fine line between allowing people to think they’re dating and actually going on dates, and this is unquestionably a date. And while Heather approved of the dress Astrid’s wearing—indeed, she insisted on it—Astrid is becoming acutely aware of how much skin she’s showing. The dress itself is fairly loose and drapey, but the low cowl back shows off the toned muscles of her back, and it’s connected to the bodice by dainty metal chains that cross at her shoulder blades. The front of the dress isn’t too showy, but between her back and her legs, which are bare below the hem of the dress, just above her knees, she feels much more exposed than she’s used to. The dress is made of a shimmery, dark purple-blue fabric. A man and woman get off the elevator, and as they walk past the man’s eyes linger on Astrid. She pulls her phone out of the ridiculous clutch she’s carrying to check the time again.

Vaguely, she hears the elevator behind her ding.

Then a voice says, “Astrid?”

She turns to see Hiccup standing there. He’s wearing the same suit he wore when he first visited the stadium with his dad, the jacket open over a green shirt. His eyes skim over her, not lingering anywhere in particular, and when he meets her eyes he gives her a crooked grin. His eyes are full of something she can’t quite place, but as she looks at him, she feels her nerves fall away. She’s not calm, not by a long shot, but something in his gaze reassures her, so that the nerves turn from discomfort to excitement.

“Hey,” she says, smiling back at him.

“You look incredible,” he says, walking toward her.

“Thanks.” She feels herself blush.

Together, they walk to the hostess’ podium, where Hiccup says, “Hi. Reservation for Haddock?”

“For two?” 

“That’s right.”

“Okay, great.” As she looks down at the monitor, the hostess’ ponytail spills over her shoulder. “It looks like your table will be ready in just a few minutes. If you’d like, you’re welcome to wait out on our rooftop bar.”

“Great, thanks,” Hiccup says. He offers his arm to Astrid, and when she takes it he leads her in the direction the hostess indicated. They emerge onto the rooftop bar, and Astrid shivers as the breeze, which is quite cool up here on the fifteenth floor, brushes over her bare skin. “Do you want my jacket?” he asks.

“No, I’m okay,” she says. She goes to the shoulder-high glass rail that surrounds the bar. “It’s beautiful up here.”

“It really is,” he says as he joins her. The setting sun is reflected on the slivers of the river they can see from here, as well as the windows of the surrounding buildings. 

The breeze stirs her hair, which she’s left mostly down, except for a braid holding back the front half. A leather band, half-covered by her bangs, wraps around the back of her head. 

When she glances at Hiccup, she sees that he’s studying her intently. 

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says, dropping his gaze. “Like I said, you just look really lovely.” He pulls something from his jacket pocket. “I wasn’t sure whether to give this to you now or later, but I think I want to do it now.” He hands her a small box. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” she says, trying not to let the warm glow of pleasure inside her show. She opens the box. Inside is a necklace. It’s nothing flashy, which means she might actually wear it—just a small silver pendant shaped like a complex knot with a tiny purple stone in the center. “It’s beautiful,” she gasps, pulling it from the box.

Hiccup grins. “I’m glad you like it. May I?” He holds out his hand. 

“Sure,” she says, handing him the necklace. She turns her back, holding her hair up and out of the way as he clasps the necklace around her neck. She shivers again as his hand brushes her shoulder, but she manages to mask it, letting her hair fall as she turns back around to face him. “Thank you,” she says again, smiling at him.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “It really suits you.”

She fingers the pendant. The chain is long enough that she should be able to wear it under her jersey. “I love it.”

He holds her gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes. “Want to go see if our table is ready?”

“Sure,” she says, taking his arm, and together they go back inside.

They emerge onto the street below two hours later.

“Oh my gods, that was amazing,” Astrid moans.

“You just said ‘oh my gods,’” Hiccup says, grinning.

“And what about it?”

The grin vanishes. “Nothing. So you liked it, then?”

“I loved it. That curry was just amazing, and the duck…”

He smiles again. “I’m glad.” They’ve been walking in the general direction of Astrid’s apartment, but now he stops. “I think we should probably talk about this before we get to your place,” he says. “Where should I—”

“Let’s not go home yet,” she says. “I want to buy you a drink to thank you.” She’s already had a drink, but she figures one more can’t hurt. 

“You’ve given me all the thanks I need,” he says.

“That may be so, but I still want to buy you a drink.”

“Fine.” His smile is visible in the light of the streetlamp they’re walking beneath. “We can stop at a bar.”

When they find one that looks likely, she takes him by the hand and leads him up to the bar itself, where they find two stools next to each other. 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, coming up to them. The bar is pretty quiet; they’re past the dinner rush, and the only college students in here are those who have already given up on finals next week. 

“I’ll have an old fashioned, please,” Hiccup says. 

“Make that two old fashioneds,” Astrid says. She reaches for her clutch, but Hiccup is already handing his card to the bartender. “Hiccup!” she says in protest. 

“It’s your birthday, you’re not buying me anything,” he says. 

The bartender smirks. “Happy birthday,” she says to Astrid. “Shall I leave the tab open?”

“Yes, please,” Hiccup says.

“Great. I’ll get your drinks started for you.” She’s wearing a vest over a crop top that leaves several inches of bare skin above the back of her jeans; as she walks away, neither Hiccup nor Astrid bothers looking away. 

“I’m going to buy you a drink one of these days,” Astrid says stubbornly.

Hiccup grins. “And I’m looking forward to it. Not tonight, though.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“Here are those drinks,” the bartender says, setting them down on coasters in front of Hiccup and Astrid. “And this is for you.” She fills a shot glass with tequila and delicately balances a slice of lime on top, then sets it in front of Astrid with a wink. “It’s on the house.”

“I—thanks,” Astrid manages to get out. 

“She’s cute,” Hiccup says teasingly as the bartender walks away. “You should see—”

“Hiccup!” Astrid hisses. She throws back the shot and bites down on the lime to try to cover her blush. Infuriatingly, Hiccup and the bartender exchange amused smirks.

“For someone who doesn’t drink, you took that like a champ,” he says. 

She glares at him. “You’re so annoying right now.”

“Am I?” He sips his drink.

She sighs, realizing that antagonizing him further will only result in more teasing. “Do you have to tease me on my birthday?”

He has the good grace to try and look abashed, but he can’t quite hide his smile. “Sorry. It’s just that I haven’t been to a bar in a long time, so I’m really enjoying myself.”

“Who was the last girl you took to a bar?” she asks. 

He considers. “My friend Ruffnut. Back in college.”

“Ruffnut Thorston?” she asks incredulously.

He nods.

“How do you know Ruffnut?”

“We took the same lit class for a core credit,” he says. “And that same semester, she slept with my roommate. Which made class weird, but we became friends after that.”

“Have you slept with her?”

“No, I haven’t. How do _you_ know Ruffnut?”

She takes a swallow of her drink. “We grew up going to school together. We haven’t really hung out since we started college, though.”

“So you must know how she and her brother got the names Ruffnut and Tuffnut.”

Astrid nods. “After the incident in seventh grade, they asked everyone to call them that. Out of respect, we don’t use their prior names.”

“The… incident?”

“We don’t talk about the incident,” she says.

“Astrid,” he says urgently, and she can’t hold back a smile at the look on his face. “You know I have to know now, right?”

She shrugs, grinning. “Well, that’s too bad, because I can’t tell you.”

“Another round?” the bartender asks, and they look down, surprised to see they’ve drained their glasses. 

“Yes, please,” Astrid says brightly. 

“Fine,” Hiccup says as the bartender leaves. “I’ll stop teasing. You win. Clearly you’re better at it.”

She grins wolfishly at him.

He sighs mock-morosely. “I used to love that smile.”

“Used to?”

“Before it started being used against me.”

She grins wider.

“Thank you,” they chorus as the bartender sets their drinks down.

“You don’t know Fishlegs, do you?” Hiccup asks.

Astrid carefully swallows her drink. “That can’t be a real name.”

“You know Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Snotlout, and Hiccup, and you draw the line at Fishlegs?”

“Well, technically Ruffnut and Tuffnut aren’t their given names.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that Hiccup and Snotlout are, in fact, our given names.”

“But Fishlegs?”

“Why is Fishlegs where you’re getting hung up?” Hiccup asks, laughing. 

Astrid finds herself giggling. “I don’t know.”

He downs the rest of his drink. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to go use the restroom.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling. He gets up and disappears through a door labeled “Restrooms.”

Astrid pulls out her phone and begins checking her various social media, but it feels like less than a minute before she senses someone walking up to her.

“Hey,” says a deep voice at her shoulder.

She looks up, forcing a smile. “Hi.”

“I’m Jake.” She doesn’t give her name. After a moment, he goes on, his voice slurred from the drinks she can smell on his breath, “I saw you with that guy. What a twink. I can do better for you’n he can.”

“I’m fine,” she says, but her patience is wearing thin. 

“C’mon, you should come home with me, and I’ll show you—”

Astrid stands up. “Okay,” she begins, and for a moment Jake looks drunkenly thrilled and perplexed before a gray-suited shoulder slips between them. 

“Hey, bud,” says Hiccup’s voice, and Astrid looks up to see him glaring at Jake, brows furrowed and his face in tight control. “I think milady’s made it pretty clear she’s not interested.”

“Your… lady?” Jake asks stupidly. Hiccup raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. “Hey, man, you want to step outside?”

“I think you probably should, but I won’t be joining you. And the bouncer there seems to agree.” Hiccup nods at the big man who’s been crossing the bar toward them. 

Once Jake has been led away, Hiccup sits back down next to Astrid. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “I didn’t need you to step in.”

“I know,” he said. “You were definitely handling it. I just didn’t want you to have to go to the effort over some dickhead.”

Astrid nods slowly. “Okay. Thank you.” She pauses. “As long as you know I could’ve taken him.”

His mouth quirks in a small smile. “Believe me, I know.” He looks at her a moment. “Do you want to go home?” 

“I think so,” she says.

“Okay. Let me just settle the tab.”

Once that’s done, they resume their walk toward Astrid’s apartment. Astrid finds herself grateful to her past self for wearing flat, lace-up sandals rather than the heels she’d been considering.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Hiccup says. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” he sighs. He sounds frustrated. Astrid shivers again, and he says, “Here, take my jacket,” wrapping it around her shoulders. 

“He called you a twink,” Astrid says.

Hiccup snorts. “A twink? Really? That’s the best he could come up with to try and insult me?”

“I think he was going for the ‘bottom’ connotation.”

He groans. “Oh my gods. Okay, first of all, there’s nothing wrong with being a bottom, and second, even if there were, do I look like a bottom to you?”

“Yes,” Astrid says emphatically, laughing. They pass under a streetlight just in time for her to see the quizzical look he gives her. “So who’s this Fishlegs guy?” she asks.

“My college roommate.”

“The one Ruffnut was sleeping with?” 

“The one she’s still sleeping with. Or so I assume, they’ve been talking about getting married. He’s a big guy, blonde, grew a mustache in college?”

“Actually, I think I might have seen him with her a couple times,” Astrid says thoughtfully. She looks up at him and says what they’re both thinking: “How the fuck did we never meet?”

But the time they get back to her place, they’ve regained the easy, jovial feeling they’d had at the bar. They kick their shoes off at the door and head up to the loft, laughing all the way up the stairs. When they reach the top, Astrid twirls around, enjoying the feeling of the dress as it brushes against her legs, and wraps her arms around Hiccup’s neck. 

He freezes, every inch of him going rigid, and she realizes abruptly that he is rather more sober than she is. Slowly, one of his hands drifts up to her bare back, and the feeling of his palm against her skin makes her arch into him. 

She looks into his eyes from inches away. They’re open wide, alert and bright, and they don’t waver from hers for a second. 

After a long moment, she giggles. “I’m not going to lose to you,” she says, stepping back and away from him. Well, stumbling. She sits down hard on her bed. 

And then Hiccup is handing her an oversized t-shirt from her pajama drawer, and then she’s wearing it, kneeling on her bed, her arms around Hiccup’s neck again. 

“You’re not gonna lose to me?” he says. She shakes her head. “Well, I’m not going to lose to you either.” And he reaches up and gently breaks her hold, then plants a finger in the center of her chest, right between her breasts, and pushes her backwards. She loses her balance and falls onto her bed. He turns to go downstairs. 

“Hiccup, you don’t have to sleep down there,” Astrid says. “I won’t do anything.”

Hiccup turns back to her. The shirt and jacket from earlier are gone; now he’s wearing a t-shirt she recognizes from her pajama drawer and his slacks. 

“I’ll be downstairs,” he says, smiling. “Goodnight, Astrid.”

She’s asleep by the time he gets down the stairs. 

Astrid wakes to the sound of a footfall on the top step. She sits bolt upright, catching sight of Hiccup for only a moment before her headache catches up with her and she topples back into bed, clutching her head. 

“Good morning, milady,” Hiccup says. He’s wearing her pajama t-shirt and a pair of dragon-printed boxer-briefs, and holding a tray. 

“Good morning,” Astrid says, sitting up more slowly. 

“I made you breakfast,” he says. “How’s your head?”

“Not great,” she admits.

“Drink this,” he says, handing her a tall glass of ice water. She drains every drop of liquid and sets the glass on her nightstand, the ice clinking. Only then does he bend down to set the tray on her lap. There’s a plate there with scrambled eggs and some sourdough toast, and a glass of orange juice. “No avocado, I’m afraid.”

“No, this is perfect,” she says, picking up her fork to dig in. Then something from the night before hits her, and she puts the fork back town. “Wait,” she says. “Did I… throw myself at you last night?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hiccup says, sitting on the bed next to her. “You did throw your dress at me, though.”

“What?” she asks, horrified. 

“Eat,” he says. “I was getting a t-shirt for you to sleep in, and I think you weren’t expecting me to turn back around once I’d gotten it, so when I did turn around to hand it to you, you threw your dress at me, since you’d already taken it off. I didn’t see anything,” he says hurriedly.

Now she remembers. “Oh no, I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s all right,” he says. “Even on your couch, I sleep better than I do at home.”

“How was I so much drunker than you?” she wonders aloud.

“Well, I’m a guy, which helps for some reason, and you had about twice as much to drink as I did. Plus you’re just a lightweight,” Hiccup says, the teasing glint from last night entering his eyes again. 

“Don’t start with me, Haddock,” Astrid says, pointing her fork at him.

“I apologize, milady,” he says, bowing his head. Then he looks at her. “Do you have practice today?”

She shakes her head. “No, Gobber gave us the day off to rest up before the game up north tomorrow. We wouldn’t have gone to a bar last night if I had practice today.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

“Will you be there?” she asks.

“Tomorrow? Of course. It’s part of the deal, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” she says. “I’m not really doing anything today, so if you want to, we can hang out and watch movies. Maybe get pizza or Chinese food later?”

A grin splits his face. “I’d love that.”

They lose the game, and draw the one after it. As Astrid runs onto the pitch for the next game, their first home game in weeks, she feels an urgency pounding in her head that she knows isn’t helpful, the reminder with each beat of her heart that they haven’t won—that _she_ hasn’t won—in what feels like an eternity. 

All through the game, she’s antsy, too prone to striking out on her own when she sees an opening, rather than working with the team to execute a play. And she’s far from the only one. In the locker room at halftime, Hannah gives a hoarse speech, appealing to all of them to just do what they’re supposed to. Astrid barely hears it. 

It’s a few minutes after play has begun again that disaster strikes. Managing to disengage from her opposing player, Astrid sees the ball spin out, seemingly into unoccupied space. Her vision tunnels on the ball, and she dashes forward.

Then she dives for it.

* * *

Hiccup knew, as soon as Astrid hit the ground, that she hadn’t meant to do it. 

She’d seen the other player at the last second, and tried to change her trajectory, falling hard and rolling. It had given the other player time to leap out of the way, avoiding any actual injury, but intentional or not, it was still a foul. Technically, there was some leeway, if the ref chose to permit it, but as the man stepped out from the sidelines, Hiccup saw in the set of his jaw what he was going to do. 

The referee held up a red card, and the stadium erupted in protest.

Hiccup could see that Hannah, who had run over, wanted to argue the call, but Astrid grabbed her hand, shaking her head—fighting the ruling now would just make it worse.

Hannah clapped Astrid on the shoulder, nodding grimly, and Astrid trotted off the field, her face impassive and her eyes aghast. 

Hiccup stood, ignoring his dad’s protests, and strode out of the owner’s box. It didn’t take him long to find her; she was in the corner of a hallway not too far away from the admin office, where they’d had their first proper conversation all those weeks ago. She was sitting, curled up in a ball. He thought she might be crying, but he wasn’t sure. The skin on her knees and elbows was grass-stained, and the knuckles of one hand were bloodied where she must have punched a wall. 

“Astrid?” he said cautiously as he approached.

Her head popped up, and her eyes blazed into his. She wasn’t crying, but her face was flushed red. She was angry—at herself, Hiccup realized. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Of course I’m not okay,” she snapped. She stood jerkily and began pacing. “I could have hurt that girl. I almost did. It was just so fucking stupid, and I didn’t see her, and now if we lose, which we probably will since we’re a player down, it will be my fault specifically.”

“Astrid—”

“Don’t, Hiccup. Just don’t. I’m letting everyone down, and I don’t deserve to be comforted right now.” With no more warning than her voice cracking on the last few words, she burst into tears, and despite her words, she let him pull her into a hug. The tears stopped as quickly as they had started, just a flash of frustration breaking through, but she kept her fists balled up in the back of his shirt, and so he kept his arms around her. 

Then, behind Hiccup, Stoick cleared his throat, and they stepped apart. 

“Miss Hofferson,” Stoick said. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. You’ve been given a one-game suspension.”

Astrid nodded, not meeting Stoick’s eyes. 

“Gobber would like for you to change into street clothes and then go watch the rest of the game from the bench.”

She nodded again. “I can do that.”

“Astrid, I want you to know that I’m not upset with you. No-one was hurt. And Gobber isn’t either. It’s just the rules,” Stoick said gently.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hannah Jensen does have some choice words for you, though.”

Finally Astrid gave a wan smile. “I would expect as much.”

Stoick nodded. “Gobber wants you out there as soon as possible. And Hiccup—”

“I know, Dad,” Hiccup said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Stoick nodded again, then turned and walked away. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Astrid leaned into Hiccup again, and he held her. He didn’t know for sure why she was staying, and he didn’t quite dare ask—if it was for the benefit of their audience, to validate the assumptions Gobber and his dad were probably making, or if she just wanted his reassurance and comfort as a friend… or if it was something else, something he hadn’t even really let himself dream about. And of course, now wasn’t the time to ask.

He still wasn’t sure when he sat back down next to his dad.

They ended up winning somehow, scoring two goals in the last ten minutes to make up for the penalty kick that had been awarded after Astrid’s red card. The Valkyries fought brutally, each of them playing with such determination and skill that Hiccup could only marvel.

As they trooped off the pitch, exhausted far more than victorious, Rachel Denbrough stopped in front of where Astrid was sitting on the bench in her Valkyries hoodie and denim shorts. Hiccup couldn’t hear what she said, of course, but her posture made her message quite clear:

_See? We didn’t need you._

Astrid didn’t reply. She just looked up at Rachel, her jaw clenched.

* * *

Even though she’s not playing in the next game, Astrid attends practice all week. As Gobber put it, there’s no sense in letting her skills dull just because she can’t play. 

She keeps her head down in drills, sticks to the back of the room in yoga, and generally tries to stay out of people’s way.

Beneath the surface, she is seething. Hannah’s words from after the game are still ringing in her ears. Though Hannah hadn’t really raised her voice, they’d been deafening in the locker room: _Careless. Stupid. Out of control._

It is that last that bothers her the most. Every time she takes a step outside the measured pattern of the drill, every time she kicks the ball a little harder than she needs to, every time she flexes her shoulders in downward dog, the words flash through her head and she is intensely aware that she is deviating.

And what really pisses her off is that it’s true. She was out of control. She acted without thinking about what she was doing, and nearly hurt someone because of it. 

It doesn’t help that all of it—charging forward, diving for the ball—was because of how desperate she was to gain control of the game. She knows there are ten other women on her team, and that as a midfielder it’s not even her job to be aggressive and try to take control. She knows this. But in that moment, she acted without considering any of that, without thinking of what Hannah and the other strikers were trying to do.

She was out of control.

She hates being out of control.

Most people are happy enough to leave her alone. She’s not sure if it’s because they figure she has a right to be out of sorts, or because they’re aware that her quiet is only a thin shell, and that speaking at all has a good chance of breaking the shell and letting all the anger out.

She hangs out with Hiccup one night, and rants to him about what’s going on and how stupid she was. He doesn’t say so, but she’s sure he’s tired of hearing about it, and especially tired of how frustrated she is with the whole thing. She can’t help it, though—when he looks at her with that concerned look on his face, the words just come pouring out.

Of course, Rachel’s the one who provokes her. 

It’s after practice ends on Thursday afternoon, and Astrid is packing up her bag after changing into her street clothes. She’s decided to walk home, hoping that the air will help clear her head. She and Rachel are the last ones there. Rachel’s at the mirror just inside the locker room, brushing her hair, as Astrid slips on her shoes and starts heading for the door.

“Hey, Astrid.” There’s already a gloating edge in Rachel’s voice, as if she knows very well that she is starting shit and is quite glad to be doing so.

Astrid’s better judgment tells her to keep walking, but she stops, turning to face Rachel. “Yeah?”

Rachel pulls her hair tie from between her teeth. “How does it feel to be the first and only Valkyrie to get a red card?”

Astrid feels her teeth grinding together. “I mean, I was also the first to score a goal,” she says acidly. “I haven’t seen you do that.”

Rachel arches her eyebrows delicately, winding her hair into a knot on the top of her head. “Well, no, but that’s because I’m a defender.” She’s speaking slowly and carefully, as though she’s explaining this to a small child, as she fastens the bun in place. “There are plenty of people who score goals besides you.”

Astrid wants so badly to hit her. Her fists clench, and she feels the sharp crescents of her nails digging into both her palms. She turns on her heel and stalks out of the locker room, Rachel’s self-satisfied smirk clear in her mind’s eye even after she can no longer see it. 

She’s in her car and halfway to the Haddocks’ house before she realizes quite what she’s doing. She pulls over a block away and takes out her phone. 

Hiccup picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Astrid says. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah. Is everything—”

“Are you doing anything?”

“No, but—”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

He’s standing outside when she pulls into the driveway. Looking wary, he gets into the passenger seat of her car. “Wow, that really was a minute,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “Mind if I kidnap you?”

“Kidnap away,” he says, buckling his seatbelt, and they peel back out of the driveway. 

“So what’s going on?” he asks as they start heading for a main road. 

Astrid sighs. “Fucking Rachel Denbrough.”

From the corner of her eye, she watches him take this information in, nodding. “What’d she do?”

“Just—said stupid shit.”

“What stupid shit?”

“About how I’m the only Valkyrie who gets red cards, but not the only one who scores goals.” Astrid’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. 

“That’s bullshit,” Hiccup says with surprising vehemence, and Astrid shoots him a look. “You’ve played, what, seven games? We’re barely a quarter of the way through the season. Someone else is bound to get a red card.”

“That’s not comforting,” she snaps.

He holds his hands up as though in surrender. “Sorry.” He pauses. “I’m sorry she’s doing that, it’s shitty of her to rub it in when you’re just trying to keep your head down.”

“How did you know—”

“Gobber told me.” There’s anxiety in his face as he looks at her. “He’s worried about you.”

Astrid scoffs. “Worried about the team, more like.”

“No, worried about you, Astrid Hofferson, stressed-out girl wonder. Not as a midfielder, just as you.”

“But why—”

“Because he can see how much you’re stressing yourself out internalizing this whole stupid thing.” He pauses, looking at her. “It was an _accident,_ Astrid, and everyone knows it. Gobber knows it, my dad knows it, the other team knows it. Even Rachel knows it.”

“Then why’d the ref give me a red card?” she demands.

“Because he’s a dick!” Hiccup exclaims. “Every year, without fail, he makes at least one call that my dad complains about for weeks. This year it’s you.”

Astrid only sighs. They’re quiet for a few minutes as she drives, until the thing she’s been feeling all this time, what’s really at the root of her anger, comes bubbling up.

“It’s not fair,” she mutters, barely audible.

“What?” Hiccup asks. 

“It’s not fair!” she repeats, practically shouting. “It’s not fair. It’s like you said, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to charge that girl, and I definitely didn’t mean to slide-tackle her. I didn’t even slide-tackle her! And there are allowances in the rules to account for intention. It’s not fair that the ref didn’t take that into account, and it’s not fair that I got the damn red card! And yeah, I know. I was out of control. I know. But still.” She looks at Hiccup, expecting him to be startled, but he’s only watching her evenly as she vents. 

“Will you say something?” she asks after a moment, somewhat quieter.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks. “You’re right, it’s not fair, and it’s shitty. Any other ref would have done it differently. But it’s one red card, Astrid. It’s not a pattern, and I think you’re blowing it out of proportion.”

“Blowing it out of proportion?” she demands, at full volume once again. “Hiccup, I played hundreds of games in college. Do you know how many red cards I got?”

“Two,” he says quietly. “I was there for both of them.”

That startles her out of her anger. “You were?”

He nods. 

“Then you saw—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh.” She swallows. “Even so, I’ve played six and a half games of professional soccer, and I’ve gotten one red card. That ratio is a lot worse.”

He nods. “Sure. Now just don’t get any more, and it should balance itself out.”

She sighs. She knows he’s right. “I just wanted my first season to be perfect.”

Hiccup gives her a half-smile. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t always work that way. Do you think I wanted to be living with my dad a year after I graduated from college?”

“But if I’m not perfect, how can I prove it’s worthwhile for me to be on the team?”

Hiccup squeezes her shoulder. “By being excellent—which you are when you’re not trying to be perfect.”

She sighs. “Thanks.”

“Feel better?”

Astrid nods. Shouting at someone about it has really helped. She feels slightly languid, cathartic even. “Thanks for letting me rant.”

He nods. “For sure.”

She looks over at him. “Do you want to come over and hang out?”

Hiccup hesitates a moment, but he nods. “Sure, but I can’t spend the night.”

She wonders if this is because of what happened on her birthday. She figures it probably does. “Okay.”

“Do you want to grab a burger?”

She considers it for less than a second, then decides, Screw it. She’s not playing this weekend. “Hell yes, I want a burger.”

Two days later, she’s sitting on a bench across the country in jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers, as the Valkyries take the field. The girl who’s filling in for her, Siobhan, keeps glancing over, until Astrid smiles at her, and she smiles nervously back. Seeing Rachel watching her, Astrid smiles at her too. It’s not her usual soccer-pitch grin, but neither is it genuine; it’s far too bright and cheerful. And it has its intended effect; Rachel takes half a step back, looking bewildered.

Next to Astrid on the bench, Hilary James snorts. She’s one of the other first-year players, and besides Jen and Jessica, she’s the member of the team who has been the most friendly to Astrid. 

“What?” Astrid asks. 

“Nothing.” But Hilary looks between Astrid and Rachel again, barely suppressing a smile.

Astrid smiles at her. A real smile.

The game begins, and at once Astrid is rapt, her gaze fixed on her teammates as they work together like clockwork, harrying the other team and scoring several times by the end of the first half. The other team scores once in the second half, but the Valkyries end up on top. 

As she watches, Astrid realizes what she’s been doing wrong. 

When the team comes off the field, Astrid high-fives each and every one of them. Rachel draws her brows together in confusion, and Hannah, who is last off the field, arches hers in pleased surprise. 

“Can I talk to you?” Astrid asks when Hannah is in the warmup clothes she’ll wear back to the hotel. 

“Sure,” Hannah says, and they go out to the hallway just outside the locker room. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to apologize,” Astrid says. 

“For what?” Hannah asks. “The red card? Astrid, we’ve been over this. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“No, it’s—it’s bigger than that,” Astrid says. “I realized as I was watching you all that I’ve been doing it wrong.”

Hannah cocks a jet-black eyebrow. “Doing what wrong?”

“I’ve been playing the same way I used to in college, like I’m the star of the team or something, and I realized I need to do a better job of fitting into the team as a whole. Like I’m part of the machine.”

“At your best, you do fit in,” Hannah says. “Really well. And I’ve seen your best. In glimpses.”

Astrid nods. “I’m going to start working on doing that more consistently.”

Hannah smiles slightly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m sorry,” Astrid goes on. “It’s just a hard habit to break, and—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Hannah says. “Just do better. And don’t… you know, don’t start regressing.”

Astrid nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

Hannah claps her on the shoulder. “You bet.” She pauses, as if deciding something. “Do you want to go get drinks later? A few of us are going. Hiccup can come too; I’m sure he’d like to get away from his dad and Gobber for a few hours.”

Astrid grins. “I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment; constructive criticism is always appreciated.


	7. The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup gets a job, and he and Astrid have two vastly different evenings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fair warning—this is probably the most conflict-heavy chapter so far. Enjoy!

Hiccup woke up to his phone buzzing somewhere beneath his chest. He heaved himself onto all fours and picked up the phone, scrunching up his face as the bright light of the screen hit his eyes.

He didn’t recognize the number, which meant it could be a response to a job application.

He got up on his knees, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. 

“Hello?”

“Good morning. Is this Hiccup Haddock?”

“Yes, this is he,” Hiccup said.

“Hiccup, this is Ragnar Ashford,” the man on the other end of the line said. Hiccup’s heart skipped a beat. “We met last year at your graduation. I hope you don’t mind my son gave me your number.”

“I remember,” Hiccup said. “And of course I don’t mind. How are you doing, Mr. Ashford?”

“I’m good, thanks. But I’m actually calling to talk about you. I heard you’re having a hard time finding a job, and I was wondering why you hadn’t applied to my firm.”

“Well, I—I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate, since—”

“Why, because you knew Chris in college?” Ragnar asked. “Don’t be silly. He’s always spoken highly of you, and I’ve seen enough of your work to know you have a lot of talent.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hiccup said. 

“Oh yeah, for sure. Anyway, we’re looking for someone to help on a project we have coming up that could potentially be really big. Nothing’s set in stone yet, but we’re in the process of drawing up schematics for the city.”

“Mr. Ashford, you know that I’m more in mechanical engineering than civil, right?”

“I know, but I also know that you did plenty of crossing over between the two in school, and that you have a good eye for design.” Ragnar paused. “Tell you what, email me your CV, and let’s plan to meet later this week. Thursday at ten?” 

“I can definitely do that,” Hiccup said. “I’m not sure if I have your email though.”

Ragnar gave it to him, and he read it back. “Okay, Thursday at ten. Thanks, Mr. Ashford. I’ll see you then.”

“Take care.”

“You too, sir.”

When he’d hung up, Hiccup collapsed back onto his stomach, letting out a groan. 

It was the Tuesday after Memorial Day. Astrid had played her first game back after her suspension that Saturday, three days before. The Valkyries had won, and everyone from Gobber to the commentators had given a good bit of the credit for this to Astrid suddenly being in much better form, and to Hannah for getting her in line. Astrid hadn’t actually scored any of the Valkyries’ goals, but she was credited with assists on two of them.

Of course, Hiccup had been proud of her. He still was.

And even his dad couldn’t object to the hug Hiccup had given her after the end of the game, warm but quick, and certainly within the bounds of friendly professionalism. 

But now, with this development, Hiccup was worried. Because now that he had an interview that could very well pan out, the first things he wanted to do—even before he emailed Ragnar his CV, as he’d promised—was to tell Astrid.

Ever since her birthday weeks before, he’d been wary of getting too close to her, of spending too much time alone with her. At least in private. He hadn’t stayed the night at her place since then, and he’d always been quick to suggest doing something outside or in a public place rather than just hanging out and watching movies. He knew she’d picked up on it, but fortunately she hadn’t asked. It would seem she’d also realized it was necessary.

They’d just had so many near-misses, so many times when being twenty-three and horny had almost made them break the rules of their game. And each near-miss had been nearer than the one before, the nearest of all the night of her birthday.

Inevitably, one of these days they wouldn’t miss.

Hiccup could still feel the skin of her back beneath his palm. Lying there, he flexed his hand, stretching the thin fingers as long as they would go in the hopes that the sensation would wash away the feeling of Astrid’s skin, soft and warm, a thin veil over corded muscles that had flexed as she’d arched against him.

It didn’t work.

The thought occurred to him that what had happened on her birthday might not have been because of him specifically. Maybe it had just been because he was there and she was drunk. Part of him wanted to believe that, the part of him that wasn’t sure why Astrid wanted to spend time with him. 

And part of him wanted to believe it because that might make their friendship just a little bit less doomed. 

But if what Angela had said was true, then maybe…

No, it couldn’t be. Someone like Astrid couldn’t want someone like him. Not really.

But she did want to be his friend. And that was something. He already knew she kissed her friends sometimes. 

Surely just texting her wouldn’t hurt.

At nine fifty-three on Thursday morning, Hiccup stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor of an office building downtown and took the first door on the left. It opened onto a suite that occupied most of the floor. At least at this time of year, it was filled with bright daylight coming in through the large windows. Even when it started raining in the fall, it would still offer a very pretty view of the river.

“Hello,” said a woman around Hiccup’s age who was sitting at the front desk. She was pretty, with auburn hair cut to her chin. “Welcome to Ashford Engineering, how can I help you?”

“Hi,” Hiccup said. “My name’s Hiccup Haddock. I’ve got a meeting with Ragnar Ashford at ten.”

“Oh, great,” she said. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picked up the phone receiver, dialed an extension, and after a moment said, “Ragnar? I have your ten o’clock at the front desk. Great. Thank you.” She hung up, looking at Hiccup. “He says he’ll be right out.”

“Great, thanks,” Hiccup said. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Miranda,” the woman said, smiling. She had a dimple in her right cheek.

“Nice to meet you.”

Hiccup took a few steps back from the desk. A moment later, Ragnar Ashford came around the corner. He was about the same age as Hiccup’s dad, with silver streaks at the temples of his dark hair. Apart from that, though, he looked a lot like his son, and Hiccup found himself suddenly nervous. 

“Hiccup,” Ragnar said genially, and they shook hands. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Thanks for having me,” Hiccup said. 

“We’ll talk in my office. Back this way.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hiccup followed him though the halls to a corner office.

“So tell me what you’ve been doing since you left school,” Ragnar said as they walked.

“Mostly making little gadgets and inventions,” Hiccup said. “My dad got me a 3D printer for my birthday, and since then I’ve been using it to make miniatures of the machines I’ve been designing. There’s this one I’m really excited about…”

He got to the stadium just a little before lunch, and found his dad sitting next to Gobber in the owner’s box. They were watching as Hannah ran the team through a drill.

“Hofferson’s making a marked improvement,” Stoick said quietly. Quietly for him, anyway.

“Aye,” said Gobber. “It may be that red card was a blessing in disguise.”

At the sound of Hiccup’s footsteps, Stoick twisted to look over his shoulder at him. Hiccup didn’t remember the last time his dad had been so pleased to see him. “Son,” Stoick called, standing up. “How was the interview?”

“It went well, I think,” Hiccup said. “Ragnar said he’d call tomorrow or at the start of next week if they want to sign me on for the project they’re working on.”

“That’s wonderful, Hiccup. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Hiccup said, a soft smile spreading across his face. It had been so long since his dad had shown pride in him.

“Hiccup,” Gobber said, breaking the moment. “Could I talk to you a minute? Alone?”

“Sure,” Hiccup said, and as he turned away, he thought he saw something flash in his dad’s eyes. But there was no time to investigate as Gobber led him away. 

They ended up in Gobber’s office. “Hiccup, we need to talk,” Gobber said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk. 

Hiccup sat down too. “Did my dad ask you to—”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what this is about,” Gobber said. “Or it is, but only tangentially.”

“What’s this about, then?” Hiccup asked cautiously.

“Hiccup, do you know how long I’ve been coaching this team?”

“Since my dad bought it, right? So about twenty years.”

“Exactly twenty years,” Gobber said. “And do you know how many women I’ve coached in that time?”

“I—I mean, hundreds, probably, right?”

“Indeed. Hundreds,” Gobber said. “And it’s not uncommon for women in their twenties to do things like fall in love, so having dealt with hundreds of them, I know what it looks like.”

Hiccup was starting to feel uneasy. “You do?”

“I do,” Gobber said. “And generally it doesn’t involve being so frustrated that they’re ready, at the slightest provocation, to pull out their own hair and everyone else’s.”

“I thought she’d been doing better,” Hiccup said. 

“She has been,” Gobber said. “I won’t deny it’s been good for her to have you as a friend. And she’s been making friends on the team too. But pretending to date, or letting people think you’re dating, or whatever it is you’re doing, isn’t doing any either of you any favors.”

For a second, Hiccup just sat there, stunned. Well, the cat was out of the bag, he supposed. No point in hiding it from Gobber now.

“I mean, it—it is, actually,” Hiccup said. “It’s actually been really helpful. And it has the benefit of us not actually having done anything inappropriate.”

“You can see, though, how that aspect of it might make her a little frustrated, yes?” Gobber demanded. “I can’t keep dealing with that, Hiccup. Besides, I’ve seen what it’s doing to you and your dad, and that cannot continue.”

“Gobber, I don’t think—”

“So either make Astrid an honest woman or tell your dad the truth.”

“But Gobber—”

“Either you tell him, or I will,” Gobber said, pointing at Hiccup grumpily.

Hiccup sighed. “Fine. Just… give me some time. I’ll figure something out.”

“Good,” Gobber said. He gestured at the door. “You’re free to go.”

“Thanks,” Hiccup said tartly.

His dad was waiting for him halfway between Gobber’s office and the owner’s box. “Did Gobber talk to you?”

“Yeah, he did,” Hiccup said.

Stoick studied him for a moment, as though sizing him up. “Listen, Hiccup, I wanted to say something, about Astrid—”

“I’d really rather not talk about it, Dad,” Hiccup said. “No offense, but I just… can’t.”

He didn’t say _Not with you,_ but Stoick seemed to get it, at least if the look on his face was any indication. For just a second, hurt flashed across his face, as if Hiccup had struck him.

“Fine,” he said stiffly. “Just… come talk to me if you change your mind.” He turned and walked away toward the admin office.

Looking after him, Hiccup felt his phone buzz in his pocket. 

It was Astrid. _Want to hang out after practice?_

They must have gone to lunch.

He texted back: _Sure. I just need to go home and change out of my suit, but I’ll meet you back here._

His stomach flipped at her response: _You should leave the suit on._

_Haha, no. I can’t relax with it on._

_Oh, fine. See you soon. _

He and his dad would be going home together; they’d arranged it earlier that morning, when Hiccup had told him about the interview. As he waited, he tried to think about how he was going to come clean to Stoick. Nothing he was coming up with would prevent the rage he was trying to avoid. Above all, he had to protect Astrid from getting caught up in the fallout.

It was going to be bad. He knew that.

But all the same, he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he and Astrid had done—not any of it. He’d enjoyed every single moment he’d spent with her the last three months, and however badly his dad reacted when he told him the truth, it would all have been worth it.

Then, slowly, an idea dawned on him. 

Gobber had described telling his dad as only one of the options. The other…

It scared him how much he wanted the other option. How much he wanted her. 

Hiccup hadn’t thought about it so directly before, but it was true. He wanted her.

He didn’t know if Astrid wanted him, not really. But maybe, just maybe, if she did…

Maybe he could take the loss after all.

* * *

He’s waiting for her outside. As she walks out into the sunny almost-summer afternoon, she sees him leaning against a concrete pillar, a backpack slung over his shoulder

He turns as she approaches. He’s changed out of his suit into jeans and a t-shirt the same shade of green as his eyes. He’s wearing a suit jacket still, though it’s a darker gray than the one from earlier.

“Hey,” she says, walking up to him.

“Hey,” he says, his face softening into a relaxed, natural smile that’s rather rare on him. It vanishes as he catches sight of something behind her. 

Astrid turns to see Gobber standing in the door she’s just come out of. She waves, and he waves back, though he’s practically glaring at Hiccup.

“What’s going on with him?” Astrid asks as they walk away, once she’s sure they’re out of earshot. 

“Did you walk?” he asks rather than answering her question.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, cool.”

They’ve walked several blocks in silence before Hiccup says, “He knows.”

Astrid’s stomach lurches as she looks up at him. “Knows what?”

“That we…” He sighs. “That we’re not actually dating. He says that he’ll tell my dad if I don’t.”

“Oh gods,” she says, looking back toward the stadium. Only the very top of it is visible behind the buildings they’ve walked past. “How’d he find out?”

“Apparently you don’t seem like someone who’s getting laid regularly.”

Astrid can’t help but snort with laughter at that. “That’s probably fair,” she says. “I have been pretty tense lately.”

“Have you not enjoyed being wrongly perceived to be romantically entangled with yours truly?” he asks, his tone carefully light.

“That hasn’t been too bad, actually,” she says. “Most people are pretty over it. And I’ve really been enjoying actually hanging out with you.” This is only partially true; even if everyone else is over thinking they’re an item, it grates on Astrid that she’s not being truthful with her team.

“So what’s the problem?”

She shrugs. “I’m still having a few personality conflicts here and there.” She hesitates. “And professional soccer is a lot harder than I was expecting it to be.”

“In a bad way?” he asks. 

“Not necessarily. It’s just demanding. It’s like… I know all the rules and have the skills I need, but I’m almost having to mentally re-frame the way that I play.”

He nods. “That makes sense.”

“And the part of me that still wants to be the team’s star player is proving resistant,” she admits.

“Like… kicking people in the face resistant?”

“I didn’t—” she starts, but he’s grinning, and she can’t help but smile back at him.

By now, they’ve gotten to her building. They head up, and as they’re taking their shoes off at the door, Hiccup asks, “Can I ask you a personal question?” 

She looks at him in some surprise, pulling two small bottles of orange juice from the fridge. “Sure.”

He takes the juice she’s handing him. “How long has it been for you since… that is—”

She realizes what he’s trying to ask. “Not since Heather,” she says. “You?”

Hiccup takes a sip of his juice. “It’s been a while.”

“How long is a while?” Astrid asks, unable to stop the mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“It’s—a while, okay?” he says, blushing scarlet. “It’s just—there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What’s up?” she asks, suddenly both concerned and wary. 

“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” he admits. He’s pointedly not looking at her.

“What do you mean?” 

“My… number.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s not six. It’s closer to twenty.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she processes that easily enough. “Hiccup,” she says, exasperated. “I thought it was something serious.”

Finally he meets her eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“That would be a really stupid thing to get mad over,” she says.

“But I lied to you.”

“Not about anything that actually affects me,” she says. “But where’d the six come from?”

He looks away again. “That’s the number of people I’ve had sex with more than once. Well, not more than one time, necessarily, but—”

“Beyond a one-night stand,” she says.

He nods, still looking down. “It’s like you said, sleeping next to someone makes it easier to keep from having bad dreams. And someone is a lot more likely to sleep next to you if they’ve just slept with you.”

She wants to hug him, but he has a determined look on his face, and she worries that if she interrupts him, he won’t finish what he’s saying.

“And this matters because one of those people is the son of the guy I’ll be working for starting the Monday after next, and I’m going to be on a team with him.”

Astrid gasps, delighted. “You got the job?!”

Hiccup’s head pops up, and he stares at her. “I—yeah, I got the call when I was at home. But that’s what you got from that?”

“Sorry,” she says, grinning. “It’s just fantastic news. So have you seen the guy since, or…”

He shakes his head. “It was the night before graduation last year. I haven’t really seen him since the ceremony. We were friends all through college, and I kind of had a thing for him for a while.”

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “I initially didn’t even apply to them because I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate.”

“So you’re not going to rekindle things?” Astrid asks teasingly.

Hiccup meets her eyes for a split second. “No, I figured it’s a bad idea to get involved with my boss’s son. Especially since he’s going to be my coworker.”

“You don’t say,” she says wryly, and he looks at her in awkward acknowledgment. “But Hiccup, do you know what this means?”

“What what means?”

“You getting a job. It means we don’t have to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Maybe she’s just imagining it, but she thinks she hears his voice waver.

“Let people think we’re dating,” she says. “You getting a job was the final goal of that whole thing. This completely solves the problem with Gobber.”

“Yeah, completely,” he says. 

“Oh my gods, this is amazing,” she says, suddenly unable to stay still. She stands up from the loveseat, where they’ve migrated as they’ve been talking. “We should celebrate. What are you doing tonight?”

“Not going home if I can help it,” he says, and though his voice is dry as ever, there’s definitely something off.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, turning back to him.

Hiccup shrugs. “Nothing. I was just thinking—if we want to celebrate, maybe we could go out somewhere and flirt with other people. Then, if people see it, word might get back, and we wouldn’t have to tell anyone directly.”

She considers that for a moment. “I know a place that would be perfect for that.”

He looks at her in some surprise. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Jen and Jessica took me there to celebrate after the game last weekend. They’re having parties all this week to get people hyped for Pride this weekend.”

“It’s a gay bar?” he asks. 

She nods. “Yeah, just off the purple line, across the river.”

“Oh, I know where you mean,” Hiccup says. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

“Have you been there?” she asks.

He nods, dropping his gaze again. “A few times. Not recently, though.”

“Can I ask…” she starts, and he nods. “What’s the proportion of—”

“Roughly two-thirds women.” He stands. “Do you think this will be okay to wear?”

Astrid nods. “You look fine to me. I’m going to shower and change clothes, though. Can you hang out by yourself for a bit?”

He nods, smiling at her. “Sure. Take your time.”

She trots upstairs to grab some clothes, then goes back down to the bathroom. As she walks past, Hiccup is pulling a spiral-bound sketchbook from his backpack, which is on the floor next to his feet. He flips it to a blank page and pulls out a pencil.

When she’s showered and dressed, leaving her hair down to air dry, she walks back out into the living room. 

Hiccup, engrossed in his drawing, doesn’t look up as she approaches. It’s a fairly rough sketch, but she can see it’s a landscape. She recognizes the hillside where they hiked a few weeks ago, densely wooded and wild. The section he’s currently working on shows a place where the path steepens sharply, and he’s in the process of sketching out two figures, one just slightly taller than the other, standing close together. 

“Cool forest,” she remarks.

He doesn’t quite slam the sketchbook shut, but it’s close. “Oh, Thor.” He clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says, his voice falsely light. “It’s the one up by the mansion; I thought it was really pretty when we were there.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, which are mostly bare in her high-waisted shorts. His eyes dart down and then away.

“Hiccup, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she says, keeping her voice soft. “You’ve been upset since I said we could stop acting like we’re dating.”

His eyes flick to her face and then away again. “It’s just… I’ve really enjoyed the time I’ve spent with you the last couple months, and… I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“About… not hanging out with you anymore. Or at least not hanging out as much.”

“Hiccup,” she says, a little annoyed despite herself. “We’re still going to hang out.”

“We are?” he asks, as though he doesn’t quite dare believe it.

“Of course we are,” she says. “Nothing’s going to change, not really. We’re just not going to be lying about why we’re hanging out.”

“We’re not lying now,” he points out.

“Lying by omission is still lying.”

Hiccup nods, fiddling with his bottom lip. 

“Hey.” Astrid pulls his hand from his face, holding it as she says, “We’re still going to be friends. I like spending time with you too.”

“You promise?”he asks, one side of his mouth quirking in a wry smile, as though he’s acknowledging it’s silly he needs to ask this.

Astrid smiles back at him. “Yeah, I promise.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Now let’s go have fun.”

They get to the bar just as the party is starting to pick up, having stopped to eat at food trucks along the way. This time Astrid beats Hiccup giving her card to the bartender, and when he raises his eyebrows questioningly at her, she merely shrugs, smiling.

“Any likely prospects?” Astrid asks, sipping on her drink. It’s sweet and fruity, which isn’t usually her thing, but then she did tell the bartender to surprise her. 

Hiccup looks at her incredulously. “We’ve been here two minutes,” he says, having to raise his voice to be heard over the music.

“And?” she asks. “How long does it take you?” Across the room, she spots a familiar sheet of long bronze hair. “Ooh, there’s Hilary. Have fun!”

“Astrid—” he says behind her, but then there are several bodies between them, and she looks at him over her shoulder, grinning. He’s wide-eyed and slightly panicked as he stares after her, but when she smiles at him, he relaxes a little and sits down on a barstool.

“Hi!” Astrid says brightly as she comes up to Hilary.

“Hey!” Hilary, already a drink or two in, throws an arm around Astrid’s shoulders. “How’s it going?”

“I’m good, you?”

“I’m good.” Hilary grins. “Is Hiccup here?”

“Yeah, but I left him at the bar to flirt.” Glancing over, she sees that he’s still looking nervous, but he’s finished his first drink and moved onto the next.

“What?” Hilary asks, nonplussed. “Are you two, like…” She gestures vaguely with her free hand.

“Like what?” Astrid asks. 

“Like, you know…” 

Astrid decides to rescue her. “Oh!” he says. “No, we’re not dating.”

“You’re not?” Hilary says.

“No. A lot of people have assumed that since we hang out so much, but no, we’re just friends.”

“Oh,” Hilary says. She’s definitely surprised, but she processes it quickly enough. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure,” Astrid says, taking Hilary’s hand and letting the other girl lead her through the crowd onto the dance floor. The music is even louder here than in the bar, and though they begin by just dancing near each other, making eye contact, it’s not long before Astrid’s hands are on Hilary’s waist, and even less time passes before they move from her waist to her hips. Meanwhile, Hilary’s palms brush across the studs on the shoulders of Astrid’s cropped, short-sleeved jacket. Neither of them makes a move to kiss the other, as the couples around them are doing, but the way the points of Hilary’s teeth show beneath her upper lip as she grins up at Astrid prickles the impulsive tendencies that have become so much more dominant these past few weeks. 

And then, suddenly, Hilary turns in Astrid’s arms and begins grinding her ass against Astrid’s lap, craning her neck to look up at her face. The flashing lights dance across the tendons in her neck. 

There’s nothing sexual in it, not really, and no expectations. It’s just fun, and Astrid feels a rush of affection for Hilary. She hugs her around the waist and kisses her on the cheek before twirling her back around. 

Hands in the air, they carry on dancing. 

It’s not long before Hilary is approached by a petite, short-haired woman who will no doubt kiss Hilary as she deserves to be kissed. Hilary shoots Astrid a half-apologetic look, to which Astrid merely winks in reply. 

She heads back toward the bar. Hiccup is there, talking to a tall, rather well-built man and wearing a smile that Astrid knows well, despite the fact that she hasn’t seen it in weeks. At least, not while awake. 

Jen and Jessica, her midfielder friends, are there too, as she’d more-than-half-expected. They wave her over, and she holds up an index finger to say that she’ll be there in a moment. She gets another drink, an old fashioned, and turns away from the bar. Hiccup catches her eye and smiles, and she grins back at him. 

“Who’s that?” she hears the man he’s chatting up ask as she leaves.

“What’s going on there?” Jen asks when Astrid sits down next to her. 

Astrid cocks her head, peering over at him. “I’d say he’s flirting.” The tall man walks away, and as his back slips out from in front of Hiccup, Astrid sees a rather sheepish look steal over Hiccup’s face. “Though maybe not terribly well.”

“And does that not bother you?” Jessica inquires. 

Astrid shrugs. “I mean, of course I’d like for him to do better, but it’s not really my place to be upset.”

“No, I mean—” Jessica starts. But Jen cuts her off. 

“Wait,” she says. “You had us thinking—but that’s not true, is it?”

Astrid just shrugs, smiling. 

She glances over at Hiccup. He’s struck up a conversation with the guy sitting on the stool next to him. This one is shorter than Hiccup by a good margin and compactly muscular. Hiccup has that flirty smile on again. She’s not sure how many drinks he’s had, but she supposes she’ll find out when they leave and she sees the bill. 

She’s just thinking she should give him some privacy, turning away to ask Jen more about the book series she’s been reading lately, when Jen’s eyes go wide.

Astrid turns back to look at Hiccup, following Jen’s gaze, and watches as he closes the distance, pulling the other man to him with a hand on the back of his neck and kissing him. It starts slowly, but intensifies within moments. There’s definitely tongue.

Something thrums through Astrid like a guitar chord, from her head all the way down to her toes. She tells herself it’s definitely not jealousy, but all the same, she can’t quite bring herself to look away. The man pulls away, nodding toward the dance floor, and Hiccup grins, downing the rest of his drink in one swallow. He follows the guy into the mass of swaying bodies. 

“Well,” Astrid says, turning back to the others. They’re both looking at her in amusement.

“Explain,” Jessica orders good-naturedly. 

Astrid knows this isn’t the plan, but she’s getting carried away with the relief of finally telling the truth. “We’re friends,” she says firmly. She takes a sip of her drink. “It’s not my fault what people assume.”

They both roll their eyes at her, though blessedly the conversation turns to other things quickly. She’s still sitting with them an hour later, talking and drinking, when Hiccup emerges from the dancers. 

“Hey,” he says, walking up to their table.

“Hey,” Astrid replies, smiling at him.

“Ladies.” He nods to Jen and Jessica. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, good,” Jessica says. “You looked like you were having fun.”

He grins. “I was.” He is very drunk, swaying slightly on the spot. As she stands, Astrid realizes she’s not much better. 

“Do you wanna head out?” she asks, the words slurring a little.

He nods. “I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “Get you in bed for practice tomorrow.”

“Oh shit, we have practice tomorrow,” Astrid realizes aloud, and is met with grins from Jen and Jessica.

“See you in the morning,” Jessica says. 

“G’night, guys.” Astrid goes to the bar, settles her tab, and heads out, Hiccup at her elbow. As they wait for their rideshare, sitting on the curb outside, she asks, “So how was it?”

“It was good,” he says, smiling. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” she says. “So who was that guy?”

“I didn’t actually get his name,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Good kisser, though. Good dancer too.”

“Do you like to dance?” she asks. 

“Not usually, but it was fun with him,” he says. He nudges her in the ribs. “What about you? Any hot makeouts?”

She snorts. “No. I did dance with Hilary for a bit, though.”

“Hilary James?”

She nods. 

“Nice.” As he smiles at her, a car pulls up, and her phone buzzes to let her know her ride is here. She stands and helps him to his feet. 

“Tell me about that guy,” she says as they slide into the backseat of the car. “The college one, I mean.”

“Oh, him,” Hiccup says. “Well, he’s really smart, and he and I used to study together, and he just has this face, you know? He’s got, like… elf eyebrows.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with elf eyebrows,” Astrid says.

“Well, then, clearly you’ve never met Chris Ashford,” Hiccup says. 

“Wait,” Astrid says, her eyes wide. “Chris Ashford?”

Hiccup’s eyes go wide too, and she sees him jump to the conclusion she means for him to. “No,” he says, but she sees in his face that he believes it. “You’ve gotta be—”

Astrid bursts out laughing, falling into giggles as Hiccup’s expression changes from shock to betrayal. 

He reaches up and holds her face in his hands. “You,” he says, “are the worst.” And he kisses her on the forehead.

“I should sleep down here,” he says a little while later, as they’re drinking big glasses of water in her kitchen. 

“Hiccup, no,” she says, setting down her empty glass. “That loveseat is so uncomfortable to sleep on. There’s no reason you should have to.”

He doesn’t say anything, only casting a drunkenly anxious look at the stairs as he gulps down the last of his water.

“Hiccup, nothing’s going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t want anything to happen, and you don’t want anything to happen. Right?”

Slowly, he nods. 

“Okay. Come on.”

And he follows her up the stairs.

“Don’t look,” she says, taking off her jacket. She doesn’t check to see if he obeys, but she doesn’t feel his eyes on her as she changes into pajamas. When she turns to the bed, he’s already under the covers, facing away from her. His prosthetic is on top of his jeans on the floor. 

He turns over when she climbs into bed, giving her a sleepy smile. She crawls into his open arms and nestles against his chest.

“Hey, Astrid?” he asks after a minute.

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean what you said earlier, about still being friends?”

She props herself up on one elbow to look at him, though in the darkness she can’t see his face properly. “Of course I did,” she says. “We’re friends. That’s not going to change. Why would you think I didn’t?”

He shrugs. “No reason, I guess. I was just worried.”

She smiles. “Well, you don’t need to be. I told you, nothing is going to change. Not really.”

“All right,” he says. “I’m glad.”

“Good,” she says, snuggling back into him. “Now go to sleep.”

* * *

Stoick didn’t use his office here at the stadium very often. Most of the time, he preferred to go to people when he needed to talk to them, or, if he had to do something at a desk, he did so in his office at home.

But that was where he was headed now. Hiccup trailed a few steps behind, dread rising in his stomach.

It hadn’t taken Hiccup long to realize that showing up to the stadium together might have been a mistake. He and Astrid had woken up and headed out without really thinking about it. But as they had walked through the halls, he’d started to wish that they had. Everyone they’d met had worn an expression of amusement, skepticism, hostility, or a mixture thereof; Gobber had looked distinctly unimpressed, though his stare had made it clear that that was specifically for Hiccup. 

As Astrid had split off from him outside the locker room, Hiccup had turned and caught sight of his father. 

And he’d frozen. 

Head and shoulders and then some above the women who had rushed past without making eye contact, Stoick had looked as angry as Hiccup had ever seen him. He’d jerked his head, silently ordering Hiccup to follow him.

Wordlessly, Hiccup had nodded.

Now Stoick held the door open for Hiccup, shutting it behind them once they were both inside. His movements were tightly controlled, which told Hiccup he was angry enough that he was having to consciously think about that.

Stoick sat down behind his desk. Hiccup remained standing.

“What the hell is going on?” Stoick demanded, half-growling.

“What do you mean?”

Stoick took a deep breath. “What is going on with you and Astrid?”

“I don’t know what—” Hiccup started, but stopped when Stoick slammed his hand palm-down on the desk.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” his dad said. “You two have been sneaking around for months—”

“We’re not—”

“—and then last night you go to a bar and act like you are very much not a couple, and Astrid even tells people you’re just friends.”

Hiccup sighed. He’d known the bar was a mistake even as he’d suggested it. It was one of the ideas he’d rejected while waiting for Stoick yesterday. But he hadn’t expected Astrid to be so excited about the end of them pretending to date, and that had thrown him off-balance.

“But you left together, and I know you didn’t come home last night, which means you both went to her place. And then you show up this morning looking like—like that.”

Hiccup looked down at himself. His t-shirt was rumpled enough that it looked like it could have conceivably spent the night on Astrid’s floor, though he had, of course, slept in it.

“So what am I supposed to think?”

“Dad, we’re just—”

But Stoick wasn’t finished. “Do you know what this looks like, Hiccup? Did you ever stop to think about what this kind of thing could do to Astrid’s career?”

Now Hiccup could feel his own patience wearing thin. “Of course I—”

“I don’t know how you could be this irresponsible. Even you. You expect me to think—”

Hiccup had heard enough. His hands balled into fists, and he took a step toward his dad’s desk.

“Will you just listen to me for once?” he shouted. Stoick stopped talking, startled, and Hiccup took advantage of the opening to press on. “We are _friends,_ Dad. Have you ever seen me kiss her, or actually do anything that might indicate we’re together?” He answered his own question. “No. You’re just assuming because she and I spend time together. And that’s because we’re friends.”

“But you’ve never denied it!”

“You’ve never asked,” Hiccup said. “You just assumed. And I shouldn’t have to tell you every time I don’t sleep with my friends.”

“But you’ve stayed the night at her apartment!” Stoick objected.

“Yeah, three times!” Hiccup snapped. “Because either it was late, or we’d had something to drink and I didn’t think it was a good idea to go home. And the first two times I slept on the couch.”

“What about last night?”

“Nothing happened, Dad. Nothing has ever happened.”

“But that doesn’t mean people don’t think it has, Hiccup,” Stoick insisted. “You have to know what people are going to say about Astrid and how she got on the team.”

“But there’s no reason to think that!” Hiccup was shouting again. He took a deep breath and continued, more quietly, “Look at the situation, Dad. We were lucky to get Astrid, not the other way around. You know it, I know it, the team knows it, the fans know it. She’s the only one who doesn’t seem to get it, and I have no idea how. She didn’t need to sleep her way onto the team, and suggesting that she would have even tried to do so is so incredibly insulting not just to her as a person, but to her skills as a soccer player. And it shows—our record is so much stronger than it was at this point last year, even with how turbulent things have been. She deserves every cent you’re paying her. If anything, if sex had been involved with getting her onto the team, you would have been the one using me to try and attract her.”

“Hiccup!” Stoick said, shocked.

“Which wouldn’t have worked anyway. And it didn’t happen, because she deserves to be here, because she’s incredible.”

“Hiccup, I know that,” Stoick said. “Gobber and I are the ones who signed her. But everyone else—”

“Then tell them the truth!” The words came out in something close to a roar. He didn’t think he’d ever spoken to his dad like this, or to anyone, really. He’d punctuated the end of the sentence by slamming his fist against the desk; now, rubbing the knuckles with his other hand, he carried on, quieter. “Make a statement. Tell them there’s no way I would ever be involved in a decision like that, that I’d never have that kind of authority, that I’m a dumbass you wouldn’t choose to make a choice about what kind of socks the team wore, let alone who’s on it. It’s true,” he said in response to the look on Stoick’s face. “You don’t trust me with anything to do with the team. You never have, and you shouldn’t. And if it protects Astrid’s career, I don’t care who knows that.”

Stoick’s mouth had fallen open, and his eyes were wide. If Hiccup hadn’t known better, he would have sworn his dad felt bad for him. “Hiccup,” he said slowly. “Whatever might have happened, if you’re willing to do that, you can’t expect me to believe you don’t feel—”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” Hiccup said hotly. “It doesn’t matter. Right? What counts is what you do. You taught me that. And I haven’t—Astrid hasn’t done anything wrong.” He swallowed hard.

Slowly, Stoick shut his mouth. “Sit down, son,” he said tiredly, and Hiccup was so surprised by the sudden gentleness in his dad’s voice that he actually did as he was told.

“I think you’d better tell me everything,” Stoick said. 

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment; as always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
> 
> Also, come say hi on tumblr! I’m apollonious over there too.


	8. The Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is only one bed.

Hiccup’s face is pale and drawn as he walks onto the pitch a few steps behind his dad. Astrid thinks he might be shaking, but it’s hard to tell from this distance.

As he spots Stoick and Hiccup, Gobber turns away from the team and walks over. He asks Hiccup something, and Hiccup nods.

The team is in the middle of a water break, and it is only because of this that Astrid has been able to stand still for the last few seconds without being noticed. Now, though, Hannah comes up to her.

“You okay?” she asks, glancing over at the three men, who are maybe fifty feet away.

“Yeah, just worried,” Astrid says.

Hannah nods. “Yeah, I get that.”

Stoick motions for Astrid to come over, and as she does so, Hannah walks alongside her. “I’m just here to back you up if I need to,” she says when Astrid gives her a questioning look. 

A lump rises in Astrid’s throat. Much as she knows Hannah doesn’t approve of what she and Hiccup have been doing, on all possible levels, she’s touched that Hannah is advocating for her. 

Even though she knows it’s part of Hannah’s job to do so. 

Hiccup doesn’t look up as she approaches. Following his lead, she tries not to look at him too much. 

“Miss Hofferson,” Stoick says. “If you and Miss Jensen will join me in my office, there are a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

They don’t see much of each other for the next two weeks. After the speech Stoick gave to the team the morning he spoke to her and Hiccup, they all seem to have accepted the truth of the last few months. They’ve all taken it somewhat differently, which she’d expected, but what has surprised her has been the common thread of support that has run through much of the team.

Support for her. 

She’s not sure if it’s because she’s not lying to them anymore, or just because no longer being under the pressure of lying to them all the time is making her a more agreeable person to be around, but either way, the team seems to have rallied around her. They even did so, quite literally, as Stoick was speaking, backing her up in a show of support that sent shivers up her spine.

Only then, with the team’s eyes on his dad, did Hiccup look up at her, giving her a sad smile.

She does feel kind of bad that they haven’t hung out since then, but she’s been busy. Hannah, Jen, Jessica, and Hilary have made sure of that. He has been too, though, since he started his job this past Monday.

Now, though, just before halftime late in this sunny, hot summer afternoon, with sweat dripping down her back, Astrid turns to hustle down the pitch when a flash of all-too-familiar motion in the owner’s box catches her eye, and she stops short.

Hiccup is sitting there. He’s wearing her jersey, and as he sees her looking at him, he smiles. Her breath catches in her throat.

“Astrid!” Hannah says, pushing Astrid forward as she runs past. “Come on, we’ve got shit to do.”

With a last, sheepish look at Hiccup, Astrid runs on.

When she pulls her phone out of her bag after the game, he hasn’t texted her. She half-expected him to, and wonders for a moment why he hasn’t.

She begins to understand, though, later. She’s gotten home and showered, and she’s halfway up the steps when her phone starts buzzing in her hand. She looks down; it’s the number from the building’s call box. 

Wearing only her towel, she answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Hiccup’s voice says, tinny. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” she says, smiling. “You?”

“Congratulations on that goal, milady,” he says.

She chuckles. “Thanks.”

“So the call box says I’m running out of time,” he says. “I just came by to see if you might be interested in getting out of town for a couple days.”

“Where to?” she asks, biting back her eagerness. Apart from work, she hasn’t really left the city since she moved here.

She can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a surprise. But I promise you’re going to like it. Just make sure you wear long pants and boots that cover your—” The call box beeps, cutting him off, and her phone hangs up automatically.

_I’ll be down in just a minute,_ she texts him.

Astrid assumes he meant shoes that cover her ankles. That would suggest his motorcycle, which means he’s probably going to make her wear a jacket too. Even as she sighs at this, she smiles and starts getting dressed. She packs a backpack as she goes, making sure to slip in the dress she got that day at the Saturday Market with Heather and the others. Just in case, she grabs a bikini. She hastily braids her still-damp hair, then throws on a thin hoodie and a denim jacket, grabs her toothbrush and deodorant from the bathroom, slips her feet into her ankle boots, and heads out.

She was right about the motorcycle, she sees as soon as she gets into the courtyard. He’s framed by the iron gate, sitting with his legs straddling the bike as he scrolls on his phone, no doubt finalizing their route to wherever it is they’re going. He looks up as she approaches. “Hey,” he says with a grin, getting off the motorcycle. 

“Hey.” She looks the bike over. It’s low and sleek and glossy black, and it looks fast even standing still.

Hiccup reaches between the two sections of the seat and pulls a lever, and the entire back half comes up, revealing a surprisingly roomy compartment beneath. He pulls out a helmet just like the one he’s wearing and says, “You can put your bag in there.”

Astrid does so, placing her backpack on top of his. Hiccup closes the seat pack up and pats it twice. “All right,” he says as she climbs on. He hands her the helmet, and as she eases it on, his fingers brush against hers as he does up the buckle under her chin. 

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” he asks.

“A few times, when I was little, but it’s been a while.”

“That must have been adorable,” he says, and she catches just a glimpse of his smile as he turns away, lowering the visor of his helmet, and climbs onto the motorcycle in front of her. “You’re welcome to hang on if you’d like to.” 

In response, she places a hand on either side of his waist, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the black leather of his jacket. He starts the bike, they pull their feet up, and then they are off.

It’s a feat in and of itself to get out of the city. As they crawl their way out through the twisting, circuitous highways, Astrid feels Hiccup’s body tense up beneath her hands more times than she can count. At one point, when they’re at a complete stop on an entrance ramp, she pats his chest reassuringly and feels him relax a little as he pats the back of her hand. 

Once they’re out of the city, it becomes clear that they’re heading west, both from the setting sun and the fact that the mountain that looms over the city is growing smaller behind them. Specifically, southwest. And while southwest could mean any number of things, Astrid has a hunch that she finds herself hoping is correct. 

They ride on in silence for a while, until the dusk falls around them and the motorcycle’s headlamp switches on automatically. Astrid is just getting used to the quiet and the warmth of Hiccup’s back against her when he tilts his head back, and then his voice whispers in her ear, softly though with a lot of feeling, “Oh, fuck yes.”

Astrid jumps about a foot. “Oh, shit,” she says, laughing at herself.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing too. “I thought you just didn’t want to talk. There are mics in both helmets. You really should look up, though.”

She does so and draws in a deep breath of wonder. Above her, the stars are scattered across the dark velvet of the night sky, glittering with the kind of depth and clarity she hasn’t seen in what must be years. Now that they’re away from the light pollution of the city, she can see them properly.

Astrid sighs happily, wrapping her arms tighter around Hiccup’s chest. “It reminds me of home.”

“Really?” he says.

“Yeah. I—my friends and I used to go camping by this lake, and we’d just lay out for hours looking at the night sky. Well, my teammates,” she amends. “Apart from Claire, I didn’t have a lot of friends who I didn’t play soccer with.”

“Well, you do now,” he says. “Like, at least five.”

“Are you including yourself in that?” 

“Of course I am. Are we not friends?”

“Of course we’re friends.” She looks up at the stars again and snuggles into him, hoping he can’t feel the way her heart is beating. 

They turn south and start heading down the coast. To their right, Astrid can hear a roaring, rhythmic crashing sound. “Is that—?” she asks, grinning.

“Yeah,” Hiccup says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “It's been way too long since I’ve been out here.”

“How long has it been?” she asks.

“A couple years. My dad and I used to come out here every Father’s Day, but we missed last year.”

“And this year.” 

“Yeah.” Hiccup sighs. “I figured a better Father’s Day gift would probably be to get out of his hair for a couple days. And I still had the reservation, so…” He shrugs. “I’m glad I didn’t have to come alone.”

“I am too,” she says. 

They pull into a parking lot a little while later. Hiccup finds a spot and parks the bike, and they both climb off. Astrid stretches her legs. When Hiccup pulls off his helmet, his hair is even messier than usual. He opens the bike’s storage compartment and pulls Astrid’s bag out, handing it to her before swinging his own over his shoulder and locking both helmets inside.

“The office is this way,” he says, gesturing.

They start the process of checking in, but after a moment the lady behind the desk furrows her brow. “Oh, dear. It looks like there was a mistake with the reservation. I see you were marked down for two queens, but the only room we have left has one king-sized bed. Unfortunately, we are all booked, and you two are the last to get in. Is that going to be okay?”

Astrid sees Hiccup begin to panic and says quickly, “That’s fine.” He shoots her a worried look, but she merely nods in encouragement. He nods back and hands over his card for incidentals. 

“And our restaurant should be open for another hour or so,” the woman says. “Do you know where it is?” 

“I do, thanks,” Hiccup says. “Have a good night.”

Once they’re out of the lobby, he starts heading across the parking lot—toward their room, she presumes—until she says, “Actually, could we eat first? I’m really hungry.”

He turns back to her, brows drawn together in concern. “Have you not eaten?”

She shakes her head. “Not since before the game.”

“Oh, Thor. Why didn’t you say something?”

She grins. “I just did.”

It’s as they’re heading to their room, full of clam chowder and bread rolls, that the voice calls out from the darkness. 

“Hiccup Haddock!”

A man steps into the light of the lamp overhead. He looks to be in his early thirties, and he’s shorter than either her or Hiccup, with close-cropped brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. From the way Hiccup slides himself between her and the man, too hurried to be subtle, Astrid knows who it is even before he says cautiously, “Hi, Viggo.”

Viggo’s eyes flick from Hiccup’s face to hers, then back to Hiccup. “You don’t need to be afraid,” he says. “I’m not here to do anything rash.”

“Then why are you here?” Hiccup demands. “And how did you know I’d be here?”

Viggo rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You’re so predictable. You and your dad come here every year. Or you used to, anyway.”

Hiccup takes a step toward him, but Astrid grabs his hand.

“I’m here,” Viggo continues, and Astrid realizes he didn’t miss her taking Hiccup’s hand, “to try to put your mind at ease. Just in case you were worried. Krogan and Drago have decided to leave you alone. They don’t think it’s worth getting your father involved.”

“And did they send you to tell me that?” Hiccup asks.

“No,” Viggo says. “I was expressly forbidden from contacting you, actually. Hence why I’m here, away from all the prying eyes in the city.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Viggo pauses. “Because I’m glad you got a job after all,” he says. “And I don’t want you to be worried when you don’t have to be.”

Both men stand there for a moment. Hiccup’s hand grips Astrid’s almost too tightly.

“I’m headed back tonight,” Viggo says. “I’ll see you at the city council meeting.” He nods at Astrid. “Miss Hofferson,” he says. “Lovely as always.” He walks past them and gets into a car.

Hiccup doesn’t move until Viggo turns onto the main road. Then, slowly, he relaxes, letting Astrid’s hand fall.

“What the hell was that about?” Astrid asks. “What did he mean, he’ll see you at the city council meeting?”

“The engineering firm he works for, where I was offered a job, is our main competitor for this project we’re working on for the city. I guess they’ve decided not to go after me as the weakest link on my team.”

“Were you worried they were going to?”

“Not particularly.” He smiles sheepishly. “Maybe I should have been.”

He doesn’t seem to be grasping the full implications of what Viggo said, or the fact that he apparently followed them out here. “Hiccup—”

“I know,” he says. “Let’s go to the room. I need to talk to my dad.” As they resume their walk toward their room, he continues, “It’s interesting, though. He gave me a name I didn’t have before. I wonder if he did that on purpose.”

“Krogan?”

“No, Krogan’s the one who runs the engineering firm,” Hiccup says. “Drago.”

“So what’s this project anyway?” Astrid asks as they climb a set of stairs. 

Hiccup unlocks the door to their room. They drop their bags on the bed before he answers. “One of the bridges. It’s not unsafe now, but in twenty or thirty years it might be. And with the city growing as it is, they want something that can get more people across the river faster. I’ve been brainstorming ideas all week.”

“Can I see?” she asks.

His eyebrows jump in surprise. “Sure.” He unzips his backpack and pulls out a sketchbook, the same one he was drawing in the last time they hung out. He sits down on the bed and pats the spot next to him. Astrid sits down too. He opens it to a page and shows it to her. “Ragnar wants to incorporate some of the bridge’s traditional aesthetic, so I’ve been trying to work that in.”

Astrid nods. “It looks good.” She points at the design on the bottom left of the page. “I like this one.”

Hiccup grins. “I do too.” He stands. “I’m going to call my dad. I’ll just be out on the balcony.”

Astrid gasps. “There’s a balcony?” 

His grin widens. “Yeah. In the morning we’ll be able to see the ocean.”

She can hear it as soon as he opens a door she hadn’t noticed, deeper and louder than anything she’s heard in person before. 

“Can I keep looking at this?” she asks, holding up the sketchbook.

For a moment, panic flashes in his eyes, but he nods. “Sure, just let me know what you think.” He ducks outside.

Between the crash of the waves, she can hear him talking on the phone. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m out at the coast. I know. I’m sorry too. Uh, actually, Astrid’s here. Would it make you feel better if I told you there were two beds? Good, I wouldn’t want you to think anything was going on. Well, actually something did happen. No, not with Astrid. I need you to tell me about someone. His name’s Drago.”

As he talks, Astrid stretches out on the bed, face down, and leafs back through the sketchbook to the forest she saw him working on before. It’s more finished now, with more details in the trees and sky, and the two figures are definitely recognizable as her and Hiccup. Well, her, anyway. In the drawing, Hiccup is turned away from the viewer, looking up at Astrid. _He must not like drawing self-portraits,_ she thinks.

Curious now, she flips to the front of the book. Each drawing is dated, almost like a journal entry, as though he’s drawing whatever has been feeling his mind’s eye that day. There are scenes she recognizes from the college they both went to: the library, the courtyard of the English building with its far-too-realistic statue of a famous poet sitting on a bench, the duck pond across the street from the music building. 

She turns a page and freezes, staring at the drawing she sees there. 

It’s her. 

Her lips are pulled back from her teeth in an expression that is equal parts snarl and laugh. Tendrils of her hair are coming loose from her braid and falling over her face. She would think he’d given her more ferocity than she had at that moment, but she’s seen photos, and she remembers it fiercely. 

It’s the moment her team won the league title, a couple weeks before he graduated. The moment she, as captain, led them to victory.

The picture after that is of a man, laughing as he looks off to one side. He’s quite handsome. He must be Chris, Astrid thinks. Hiccup’s right—he does have elf eyebrows, though she can’t qualify that any better than Hiccup could.

After that, there’s one that she flips past quickly of a naked male torso, thankfully only from the waist up, that definitely isn’t Hiccup’s. And then comes scene after scene of the city: the bridges—including the one he’s working on now—the parks, the museum where they met.

As she might have expected, the first one of her shows her in the one-shouldered dress she wore to the party at the start of the season. Now she’s sure he’s editorialized a little. She does not remember her boobs looking that good.

There are more: her, in leggings and an oversized hoodie, in the dress that’s in her bag now, in the tank top and shorts she wore the first night he stayed over. That last one looks positively angelic, lit from behind and practically glowing. She blushes a little looking at it. 

The next page shows her on the overlook by the mansion. Somehow he’s gotten the light sheen of sweat on her cheekbones.

There’s an entire spread, dated the day after her birthday, devoted to her in the dress she wore that night. Some of the drawings are just her, looking over the edge of the railing on the rooftop bar and laughing on a bar stool, but several are poses she recognizes from sculptures that she’s seen in photos. She’s not sure why, but she loves that he’s kept her arms and legs muscular, even in these softer, more classical poses. In all of them, she looks elegant. 

Well, most of the spread has her looking elegant. Along the bottom of one page, she’s lying, asleep, with her mouth open, her face pressed into the pillow, and her hair an utter rat’s nest. One leg and foot is sticking out from under the blanket, her scar just peeking out. This aspect of her is not drawn any less carefully—any less lovingly—than any of the others.

Slowly, Astrid begins to understand.

She realizes she hasn’t heard Hiccup say anything in more than a minute and looks up to see him standing in the doorway, watching her nervously. 

“What do you think?” he asks.

She’s not sure what to say. Nothing she can think of seems sufficient. “I love this one,” she says, pointing at the one of her sleeping.

He grins, looking more than a little relieved. “Sorry. I just couldn’t resist. I didn’t—” He stops, looking down.

“What?” she asks. When he doesn’t reply, she stands and goes to him, bending her knees a little so she can look into his face. “Hiccup, you didn’t what?”

He meets her eyes. “I didn’t want to forget,” he says in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. 

The urge to kiss him washes over her, and she comes closer to succumbing than she has since the party. It would be so easy: his mouth is only a few inches from hers. He seems to see it in her face; he clears his throat and brushes past her into the room. 

“I think they have DVDs in the lobby,” he says. “Want me to go grab one?”

“I guess?” she says, a little stunned by the sudden shift.

“Great. I’ll be right back.” He nearly bolts out the door, coming back a few minutes later clutching a plastic case.

In the intervening time, Astrid has changed into her pajamas, turned on the gas fireplace set into the wall next to the balcony door, and crawled into bed. As he walks in, his eyes widen, and he very nearly stops in his tracks. But he sets the DVD down by the TV before vanishing into the bathroom. He comes out in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt and sits on the other side of the bed.

“What did your dad say?” Astrid asks as he’s reaching for the remote. “About Drago.”

“He thinks we’re probably okay,” he says. “If he was actually going to do something, Drago wouldn’t give a warning. Not even the kind of weird non-warning that having Viggo show up out of nowhere, saying they’re not going to do anything, would be. He might give a warning if he just wanted us to freak out. Dad said we should keep an eye out for anything strange, but if he were really worried, he would have insisted we come home.”

“Would you have listened?” Astrid asks, a little amused.

“Maybe,” Hiccup says, meeting her smile with one of his own. “Probably. I wouldn’t want to put you at risk.”

“What would he even do?” she asks.

He shrugs. “It’s hard to tell for certain.”

“And what happened between them?” she asks. “It sounds like Drago’s scared to get your dad involved in this thing with the bridge, but why?”

As Hiccup opens his mouth to speak, something like pain flashes across his face. It’s only for a fraction of a second, but it’s definitely there. Astrid says hastily, “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

He nods. “Thanks.” He smiles at her as she reaches across the bed to squeeze his hand in one of hers. “Do you want to watch the movie?” he asks after a moment.

“Not really,” she admits. 

He chuckles. “Okay.”

“We could just talk,” she says, smiling.

“Sure.”

And so they do. Hiccup tells her about his first week at his new job: about Miranda the receptionist, who writes at her desk when she’s finished processing each day’s mail and she thinks nobody is paying attention; about Geoffrey, one of the older engineers, who gets a roast beef sandwich from the same cafe down the street every day for lunch; and about Chris. Apparently, Chris took him out for lunch on Wednesday, and while they didn’t expressly discuss the night before their graduation, Chris was intent on making sure Hiccup would be comfortable with working together.

The conversation turns to soccer—while Hiccup was at the game earlier today, he missed the previous two. He asks about Rachel, and Astrid rolls her eyes, though she has to admit things have been a little better. And she’s making good progress in her efforts to work better with the team.

As they’re talking, they slowly move closer together, until Hiccup is under the covers and they’re shoulder to shoulder. He’s been playing with the fingers on one of her hands as she tells him about the guy Heather’s been dating lately, but he lets it fall to cover his mouth as he gives a massive yawn. “Sorry,” he says.

She giggles. “You’re good. Want to go to bed?”

“We’re in bed.”

“You know what I mean.”

He smiles. “I do,” he says. He scoots over to the edge of the bed and sits there for a moment, his shoulders working, then slips both legs back under the covers. He reaches up and turns off the lights, and there’s some rustling as he gets comfortable. 

“Will the fire just turn off by itself?” Astrid asks. 

“It should. Just give it a bit.”

They lie there in silence for a minute or two before Astrid asks, “Hey, Hiccup?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you tell your dad?” 

“You mean on the phone?” 

“No. When you talked in his office.”

Hiccup sighs, and she feels him roll over to face her, so she does the same. She can just make out his face in the darkness. “I told him about the party,” he says, “and how, afterward, we both needed a friend. I told him how we came up with the idea to let people think we were dating, and why, and how it seemed to be working until I realized Gobber wasn’t buying it. And I told him…” He hesitates. “I told him how careful I was, especially at the beginning, not to make you feel like your place on the team hinged on any of it. Because it didn’t. And it still doesn’t.”

She reaches out and takes his hand. Both their arms are stretched almost to their full lengths, their linked hands midway between them in the center of the bed. 

“And I repeated ad nauseam that nothing had happened between us since the party,” he says, a wry tone in his voice. 

Astrid chuckles. “And he believed you?” she asks, caught between disbelief and hope.

“I got pretty heated,” he admits. “I hadn’t ever yelled at someone like that before.”

Astrid can believe it; she has a hard time imagining him raising his voice in anger. 

“And I swore to him I was telling the truth.” His voice is very soft now.

“What do you mean?”

He swallows. “I swore to him on the one thing I know is sacred to him.”

Astrid wonders for a few seconds, but then she realizes. “Your mom?” she whispers, horrified.

He nods.

“Oh, Hiccup.” She pulls him into her arms. He’s not crying, but he doesn’t resist, burying his face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He jerks back, looking into her face from inches away. “Why are you sorry?”

“You wouldn’t have had to do that if it weren’t for me.”

He smiles. “Being your friend is worth it.”

She pulls him back into a hug, and they lie there holding each other until something occurs to her. “Wait,” she says. “He didn’t ask you to do that, did he?”

“No,” he says. “He was honestly kind of horrified. And I didn’t plan to, it just sort of popped out.”

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“Yeah.” He swallows. “The conversation kind of just escalated, and a lot of old stuff came up. It was intense.”

“It sounds like it,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “It’s all right,” he says. “In a weird way, I feel like we needed to have that conversation. Even if I wish you hadn’t been the catalyst for it.”

“Are things okay between you now?” 

He nods. “Better, anyway.”

They rearrange themselves so that Hiccup is lying with his head on Astrid’s chest, his hair brushing her collarbone. It’s the first time they’ve been this close while sober and awake. Of course it’s strange, but it also feels far more natural than Astrid would have expected. And she finds that she really likes it, though she does notice that he keeps his hips angled away from her. 

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he says. 

“You can?” 

He nods and extricates his fingers from hers. He begins tapping out a rhythm on the back of the hand he was just holding, which is now lying on her stomach. She notices with some amusement that it’s a little faster than her heartbeat usually is at rest.

Eventually, he rests his hand on top of hers, and his breathing slows as he falls asleep. 

Astrid watches the fire over his head, until slowly her eyelids begin to droop. The last thing she sees before she falls asleep is the fire disappearing as its timer runs out.

* * *

The trouble with being on the coast, Hiccup thought, was that there were very few things they could do that wouldn’t be super romantic.

He’d woken up a few minutes before to the alarm on his phone going off. He’d pulled away from Astrid to grab his phone off the nightstand by his side of the bed, and she’d grumbled and rolled over so she was lying on her side with her back to him. 

Now, as he scrolled through his phone, trying to find something for them to do, he glanced over at her. The curve of her waist, covered by the thin gray fabric of her lace-edged tank top, looked like his hand would fit perfectly along it were he to place it there. The memory flashed through his head of the last time he’d had his hands on her waist, on the hill below the mansion, and he looked away from her and back to his phone.

He hadn’t stopped wanting her. Even now, the part of him that couldn’t stay focused on what they were going to do that day wanted to wake her up by kissing along the line of her shoulder, mostly bare save for the lace strap of her top, and roll her onto her back, and crush his mouth against hers, and…

And that wasn’t going to happen. For several reasons, the main one being that he wasn’t sure she wanted it. And that wasn’t how he wanted to do it, either. He’d already decided that when—if, he reminded himself forcefully—_if_ he kissed her again, he wanted it to be perfect. Or as perfect as he could make it, anyway. 

As if the force of his thoughts had roused her, Astrid stirred with a moan—oh, _gods_—and rolled onto her back, stretching as she smiled up at him where he was leaning with his back against the headboard. “Good morning,” she said.

With a titanic exertion of will, Hiccup kept his eyes on her face. “Morning,” he said, surprised at how normal his voice sounded given that he could feel himself straining at the front of his pants. He was intensely grateful that the blankets were still covering his lap.

She frowned at him. “You’re hogging the blankets,” she said.

Hiccup made a split-second decision. His original plan for the day, made back when this had been a trip he was taking with his dad, would have to work. 

“Well, it’s time to get up anyway,” he said. “Why don’t you go get dressed? We’re going out on the water, so you’ll want to wear long pants.”

“But it’s June,” she said.

”It can still get cold. We’re pretty far north.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay. Do you need to use the bathroom before I—“

“No, I went before you woke up,” he lied. He certainly wasn’t going now.

“All right, then. I’ll be quick.” As she climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom, crossing in front of him to do so, it became clear that what he had taken to be a tank top was actually a romper. The tiny shorts, connected to the top part by a drawstring waistband, were hemmed with the same steel-blue lace as the shoulder straps were made of. His dick, which had deflated a little as they talked, now sprang back up as though in pursuit of her. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as the bathroom door shut behind her, then threw off the blanket and stared down in consternation. 

He briefly considered jerking off, just to relieve the pressure he’d been feeling since the night before, but decided against it. Now wasn’t the time, and besides, Astrid had said she would be quick. He definitely didn’t want her walking in on him. He shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, then got out of bed and started getting dressed.

Hiccup was ready when Astrid came out of the bathroom, dressed in the same jeans and zip-up hoodie from the day before. 

As she opened the door, the sound of the ocean roared in, and he realized he would be completely miserable on the water if he didn’t use the bathroom before they left. “I’m just gonna—“ he said, jerking his thumb toward the bathroom. Astrid smirked but didn’t comment. 

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into a parking lot up the hill from the docks in the next town down the coast. Hiccup locked up the helmets, and together he and Astrid walked down the hill. 

Astrid’s eyes were sparkling, and a smile was playing across her face as she looked at the ocean they were walking toward. All the way down from the hotel, she’d been looking over at it, and he’d felt the excitement bubbling up inside her through the way she’d wrapped her arms around him. 

“Have you never seen the ocean before?” he asked. 

She shrugged, grinning. “It’s just been a while. And that wasn’t the Pacific. My parents and I used to go to Florida every year, but I haven’t been since middle school.”

“Soccer?”

She nodded. “Soccer.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” he said. 

She took his hand, and his stomach fluttered up to somewhere in the region of his lungs. “I am too.”

“I wonder if Mulch will remember me,” he said.

“Mulch?” Astrid asked.

“An old friend of my dad’s,” Hiccup said. “He and his partner Bucket run the whale-watching company we’re going out with today.”

“We’re going whale watching?” she exclaimed in delight. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. We’re a little past the peak migration season for gray whales, but there’s always a few that stick around for the summer.”

By now they’d gotten to the docks.

“Hiccup!” a man shouted from a boat halfway down the docks. He stepped out onto the boards, waving, and Hiccup waved in reply. Mulch was a big man, just taller than Hiccup, with a thick brown beard that could almost rival Stoick’s. 

“Hey, Mulch,” Hiccup said as they reached the boat, shaking the man’s hand. His left hand—his right arm ended in a hook, and he tended to offer the left.

“Where’s your dad?” Mulch asked.

“Oh, he wasn’t able to make it,” Hiccup said. “This is my friend, Astrid Hofferson.”

Mulch offered Astrid his hand, and she let go of Hiccup’s in order to shake it. “Miss Hofferson,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she said. 

“And this is Jeremiah,” Mulch said, gesturing to the man still standing in the boat. He was bearded too, though his was grizzled and liberally splashed with white. “He’s our best guide. I was thinking of coming with you, but if you’d rather have some privacy—“

“No,” Hiccup said hastily. “Please come. We’d love to have you.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mulch said. He stepped into the boat and offered a hand to Astrid as Hiccup helped her in. He climbed in after her, and the three of them sat as Jeremiah steered the boat toward the narrow channel connecting this little harbor to the sea. 

“How do you know Stoick?” Astrid asked Mulch. 

“We grew up together,” the man said. “And then, once we’d grown, we came over here separately. It wasn’t until about twenty years ago that we ran into each other again. He’s actually the one who introduced me and Bucket.”

Hiccup hadn’t known that last part.

“Oh, that’s really cool,” Astrid said, but words failed her as they reached the end of the channel and the ocean spread out before them, gray, boundless, and rolling. The wonder in her face grew until Hiccup felt like he had to look away or be blinded by the brightness of it. But instead, he found himself memorizing every inch of her face. Whatever happened next, or when they got back to the city, he didn’t want to forget the way she looked right now, in this moment. 

As her head started to swivel toward him, he looked out over the water. 

“All right,” said Jeremiah from just behind them, his voice gruff. “I’m going to need everyone to keep a weather eye out. So no more doe eyes.”

Hiccup twisted in his seat to look at the man, panicked. But Jeremiah was grinning, his teeth white behind the gray of his beard. As Hiccup faced forward again, resolving to keep his head on a swivel, he saw that Astrid had turned to look at Jeremiah too. She met his eyes for a moment, and as she turned to look out over the water, he thought he saw her blushing. She had an advantage, he thought—she didn’t need to look past him to keep an eye out for whales. 

Mulch was watching them in amusement, but mercifully, he didn’t say anything.

“The first thing we’ll see when we spot a whale will probably be its spout as it surfaces to breathe,” Jeremiah said. 

“Gray whale spouts are heart-shaped,” Hiccup said to Astrid, earning him a smile. 

Naturally, she was the first to spot a spout, some fifteen minutes of quiet later. “It’s there!” she said, pointing to a spot only a hundred yards or so away. 

At once, Jeremiah cut the engine, and the boat went still. “She’s right,” he said. “Look.”

Hiccup did, peering between the waves to try and see the whale. And finally, he did, glimpsing the slippery gray skin just before it slipped back under the water. 

“Wow,” he breathed, and a moment later, he felt pressure on his knee and looked down. Astrid’s hand was there, on his knee, but she was still looking out at where they had seen the whale. Then, at a sharp intake of breath from her, he followed her gaze back to where the whale’s flukes were breaking the surface of the water. It dove back down, and Astrid watched with parted lips, only looking away—only taking her hand away—when the whale was definitely gone.

Jeremiah gave it another minute or so before he started the boat up again. They drove around for another half-hour or so, eyes peeled and mostly quiet, before Jeremiah said, “Well, that may be all we see today. Would one of you like to drive for a bit?”

Astrid looked at Hiccup, excitement clear in her face, and he nodded, giving her an encouraging grin. She jumped up and went back to the steering wheel, surprisingly steady on her feet for someone with so little experience on boats. 

“All right, you might be surprised by how responsive it is," Jeremiah said. “Try taking it in a slow, wide circle to get the hang of it. No, not so sharp. Let up a little.” The boat’s arc widened, and as they carved through the water, Hiccup glanced back at Astrid. The color was high in her face, and she was wearing a small smile that just barely contained her excitement. 

Hiccup had never been particularly interested in getting a boat, but he was starting to reconsider that.

“Very good,” Jeremiah said. “Now try turning us back north, and keep us about the same distance from the coast.” 

With only a few small stutters, Astrid turned them so that the land was on their right. “Nicely done,” Jeremiah said. “Now just keep an eye out for whales.”

Hiccup figured that last order was probably for him too, so he tore his eyes away from Astrid, meeting Mulch’s gaze as he faced forward again. 

“She’s not half-bad,” Mulch said.

Hiccup nodded, smiling. “She’s pretty remarkable.”

“You know, she’d make a decent guide,” Mulch said speculatively.

Hiccup laughed. “You’ll have to fight my dad for her.” He resumed scanning the waves.

It was only a couple of minutes later when he saw it. “Holy shit,” he whispered, then, louder, he said, “Astrid, stop the boat!” 

She did so, closing the throttle, and Jeremiah reached over to turn off the ignition. Apparently, he’d seen it too.

As had Mulch; his eyes were trained on the fin even before Hiccup pointed to it, poking out a good six feet from the water.

“It’s an orca,” Hiccup said. 

Mulch nodded confirmation. “They don’t usually come this close to shore.”

“Have you ever seen one before?” Astrid asked. 

Hiccup shook his head, his eyes still on the whale. He was aware that his mouth was hanging open, and even when Astrid moved into the edge of his peripheral vision, his eyes stayed glued to it. 

“It’s beautiful,” Astrid said, and he nodded.

“It may also be why we haven’t seen much else,” Jeremiah said, though his face, when Hiccup looked back at him, was just as full of admiration as Astrid’s or his own.

Jeremiah waited until the orca had swum out of view before saying, “We may want to start heading back. We haven’t got too much time left.” He started the boat again and began steering them back north. On the approach to the harbor, he took them between several large buoys that hadn’t really registered to Hiccup on the way out because he’d been too busy looking at Astrid. As they passed, the sea lions covering the buoys' bases bayed and barked at them. 

Astrid waved back at them the same way she might wave at rowdy fans who had recognized her, and Hiccup couldn’t help but laugh. 

A little while later, they pulled into their spot at the docks. Mulch got out of the boat first and offered his hand to both Astrid and Hiccup as they followed. They waved goodbye to Jeremiah and walked along the docks. 

“I don’t suppose the two of you would like to join me and Bucket for some lunch?” Mulch said. 

“We’d love to,” Astrid replied. 

“Excellent,” Mulch said. “Bucket will be pleased. He’s making his famous shepherd’s pie.”

They got back to the hotel in the middle of the afternoon, having spent several hours with Mulch and Bucket, and Astrid vanished into the bathroom, to change, she said. 

A few minutes later, Hiccup heard the bathroom door open and looked up from his sketchbook. He froze, his eyes as wide as they’d been for either of the whales they’d seen. And he couldn’t take his eyes off her any more than he could one of them. 

She was wearing the same blue floral dress she’d worn the first time he’d taken her out for breakfast. There were no leggings this time; her legs were bare, and on her feet, she wore the same sandals she’d worn the night of her birthday. 

“Wow,” he breathed. He stood, dropping his sketchbook on the bed behind him. “You look… beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I was thinking… do you know a place where we could go on a walk?”

His heart thudded in his chest. He nodded. “Sure. We could go down to the beach.” 

“There’s a beach?” she exclaimed in precisely the same delighted tone she’d used the night before about the balcony. 

He laughed. “Of course there’s a beach. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He led her back across the parking lot to the building that housed the lobby and restaurant, then around the back of the restaurant to the long, winding set of stairs built into the hillside there. They descended, occasionally taking each other’s hands when they felt unsteady, and finally arrived at the beach. 

Astrid took several steps across the sand, grinned, looked at Hiccup once, and took off running toward the surf. The tide was still fairly high—it had peaked as they were eating lunch—but as the afternoon wore on, it gradually got lower, and more and more of the beach became accessible. Hiccup showed Astrid the tidepools in the rocks once they could reach them, and Astrid, now barefoot with the laces of her sandals knotted around her neck, crouched down to peer at the little creatures scuttling around inside.

Various other people came and went as they amused themselves, including a group of ten or so beachcombers looking for sea glass. When Hiccup found a particularly nice piece and handed it to one of the women, it earned him a smile from her—and from Astrid, who was watching from where she stood ankle-deep in the water. A few minutes later, he waded up to her, his own shoelaces tied around his neck now and both pant legs rolled up, and handed her a piece of glass, its edges rolled and rounded by the tumbling it had taken in the ocean, the same color blue as her eyes. It was an unusual color to find, but even if she didn’t know that—and why would she?—the sparkle in her eyes when he handed it to her seemed to say that she liked it.

A little while later, he was sitting on the sand with her sandals and his sneakers on the ground next to him, both knees pulled up to his chest. 

Astrid was knee deep in the water now, the hem of her dress just above the surface. Every few waves, it would get splashed, so that the bottom several inches were hanging damply against her legs. She was just standing there, looking out at the water with her hands at her sides, as the sun began to dip toward the horizon.

Hiccup thought he understood what she was feeling—the tremendous awareness of her own smallness compared to the vast expanse of water before and around her. He wondered if it scared her, or if she found it comforting.

She didn’t see the wave in time, entranced as she was by the ocean. Bigger than the others, it rolled toward her; the spell the sea had over her broke only a moment before the wave did, soaking her to her hips. With a shriek that was half-laughter, half-discomfort, she turned from the ocean and stood there another moment, laughing, as the wave crashed onto the beach, nearly reaching Hiccup before slipping back down the sand.

And as he sat there, grinning as he looked into Astrid’s laughing face, with the sun descending behind her and her dress clinging to her, Hiccup felt it—an understanding within him that snapped into place with resounding clarity and irrevocable certainty.

_Oh._

_Oh, shit._

Suddenly, he got it—why it had felt like so much more than simple wanting every time he looked at her, why he hadn’t been able to get her face out of his head in months, why it had hurt so badly when he thought she had wanted to come clean so she wouldn’t have to spend time with him. 

The realization rolled over him the same way the wave had hit Astrid, and he felt his heart make a noise not unlike the one she’d made. Mercifully, the sound stayed inside him.

By now, Astrid was sitting down next to him on the other side of their shoes, beginning to dust the sand from the bottoms of her feet before she put her sandals back on. Robotically, Hiccup began doing the same.

“Back to the room?” he asked as he stood, surprised and relieved at how normal his voice sounded. He reached a hand down to help Astrid up; as she took it, something like sparks prickled between their palms. He’d almost gotten used to that, but now, he knew, there would be no getting used to it.

She nodded. “Sure.” She withdrew her hand to dust off the back of her dress. “I’m hungry. Do you know if there are any Chinese food places that deliver here?”

“I think so,” he said, though at that moment he would have walked back into town just to get her Chinese food. Or to get her anything, really.

It was later, as they were sitting on the balcony, eating and looking out over the ocean at the setting sun, that Astrid said, “Can I ask you something?”

Hiccup’s heart jumped into his throat, but he said calmly enough, “Sure.”

“It’s about the night we went to the bar.” She smoothed her hand over her leggings, which she’d changed into as soon as they got back. “The other day, I found the receipt for the bar tab in the pocket of the jacket I was wearing, and I saw that you had more to drink than I realized at the time. Like, a lot more. Like, it’s a miracle you didn’t throw up.”

“I did throw up,” he said. “That’s why I stopped dancing.”

“Wait. You kissed me right after that.” 

“Just on the forehead. And I rinsed my mouth out.”

“You did?” 

“Yeah, they had mouthwash.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

“I was surprised too. They didn’t the last time I was there.”

He’d half-hoped that would distract her from the place he could feel this going, but it didn’t. 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said, “and I realized that you might not have had the kind of night I assumed you were having. I mean, getting plastered and making out with a random guy could definitely just be having fun, but it could also be something else, something worse. And so I was wondering—are you okay?”

He almost laughed at the question. He was so far beyond okay right now, sitting here and watching the sunset with her. “I’m good, yeah,” he said. A moment later, he admitted, “That night, though, I—I did kind of spiral.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Well, when I told you about the ultimatum Gobber gave me, you just seemed so excited to be done with the whole business, and my first thought was that you were excited to be done with me. And I know that wasn’t it,” he said hurriedly as she opened her mouth to speak. “It just felt that way.” He hesitated. “And what I didn’t tell you at the time was that telling everyone the truth was only one of the options Gobber gave me. The other—well, the way he put it was making an honest woman of you.”

She snorted. “And did you think about it? Going for it, I mean.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“But that would have meant you losing.”

“I know.”

Her hand found his in the falling twilight, and suddenly emboldened, he asked, “What would you have done if I had?”

She hesitated for a moment before she admitted, “I’m not sure.”

She wasn’t sure. Which meant she probably still wasn’t sure. Which meant—

He knew what it meant.

“And even though I didn’t make a move, you being so excited, it—it felt like a rejection. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” she said. She didn’t pull her hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. 

Her thumb stroked against the back of his hand. “Are you thinking about making a move now?”

Hiccup felt his pulse accelerate. “I mean, I hadn’t been.” She chuckled, and he asked, his racing heart in his throat, “Are you asking?”

“What would you say if I was?”

He paused. They hadn’t talked this openly about sex before; it had always been a non-topic for them, something they’d both implicitly understood to be too dangerous. “I’d probably say that this weekend isn’t the time. I more or less promised my dad nothing was going to happen, and we just got back on good terms. Or as good of terms as we’re ever on.”

It wasn’t what he wanted—no, what he wanted was to pull her into his lap and plunge his fingers into her hair and—

Well.

But it was what was for the best. And he still didn’t know what she wanted. Not really.

Astrid laced her fingers between his. “I can respect that,” she said, before leaning over the arm of her chair and kissing his cheek.

Later, once they’d changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, Hiccup sighed. “How do I already know we’re going to end up snuggling?”

“Because we’re both very cuddly sleepers,” Astrid said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she said. “And if you think you’re not, it’s only because you’ve never woken up being spooned by yourself.”

“Astrid—” he started, suddenly anxious.

“It’s fine, Hiccup. Just come here.”

So he did.

* * *

Astrid wakes up slowly. 

She’s comfortable and warm, and she can hear the ocean outside. Hiccup’s arm is around her waist, and she’s cradled against his chest, just as she was the first time they woke up together. Part of her wants to roll over to face him, but she’s simply too comfortable to risk waking him.

She knows that she didn’t imagine the look she saw on his face, yesterday on the beach. She knows this, just as she knows he’s not going to do anything about it until she does. 

Astrid checks her phone and gives herself a few more minutes to relax before she slips out of bed and goes to change.

“Hiccup!” she says as she comes out of the bathroom. “Come on. We’re going for a run.”

“Mmmph?” Hiccup says, rolling onto his back. 

“I’ve never gone running on a beach before, and I want to try it before we leave.”

“Buh ‘stoo early,” he says. 

“Come on,” she says again, pulling the covers back even as he tries to pull them over his head. “I know you packed track pants. Come on, let’s go!”

Finally, his eyes open, and she sees him register the fact that she’s wearing only leggings and a sports bra. “Okay, I’m coming,” he says, suddenly sounding a lot more awake as he climbs out of bed. 

Hours later, as they pull up to her building, Astrid feels butterflies in her stomach as she contemplates what she’s about to do.

Hiccup turns off the motorcycles’ ignition, and she climbs off lithely. He follows, unlocking the seat so she can grab her bag. She does so, replacing her helmet on top of his bag, and swings her backpack onto her shoulder. 

Hiccup unbuckles his helmet. His hair fluffs out as he pulls it off, and he smiles down at her in a way that makes her breath catch. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says. “I had a really good time.”

“I did too,” Astrid says, and reaches out as though to hug him. As his arms wrap around her waist, she clasps hers around his neck.

And then she raises her face to his, and she kisses him.

He almost drops his helmet in surprise, but after a moment he kisses her back, and when she pulls away there’s a look on his face like she’s just given him a drink of water after a week in the desert. Or several months in the desert, she figures. It’s the same look he had yesterday on the beach, utterly thunderstruck and full of desire.

She kisses him once more and then turns to rush inside the building. She turns back at the door, relishing the smile that is now spreading across his face, and waves to him.

He waves back as the door shuts behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This came very close to having to be a two-parter, and I appreciate you sticking with it if you've gotten this far. 
> 
> If you'd like to leave a comment, I always appreciate the feedback. 
> 
> As a heads-up, I may take a break next week. There will still be a story up, but it might not be a City of Bridges chapter.


	9. The Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author thinks we've all earned some smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone who noticed this go up the first time - we had some formatting issues, but it should be good now!

The next five days were among the longest of Hiccup’s life. 

Each morning, he woke up and got dressed, then headed into the city in a crowded ALEX car. He spent the mornings at his desk—he was still teaching himself the software Ragnar’s team used, with occasional help from Chris and the team’s co-lead, Natasha—and then took a walk during his lunch break, just to make sure he would be able to sit still for the creative meetings that took up the better part of the afternoon. 

Chris joined him on several of these walks, and one day, as they were walking across a park on a path lined with benches, he said to Hiccup, “You seem distracted.”

“Sorry, just trying to find a bench,” Hiccup said, and having done so, he sat down.

Chris sat down next to him. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I mean in general.”

Hiccup had to admit he had a point. He had been distracted; every time he stopped thinking about work for even a second, his mind snapped back to Astrid kissing him outside her building on Monday afternoon. 

It did so again now, and it was a second before he was able to admit, “You may have a point. Do you think your dad and the others have noticed?”

Chris shrugged. “Probably not. But then, they haven’t spent four years sitting next to you in class.”

“That’s fair,” Hiccup said, looking at the tree above them.

“So who are they?” Chris asked.

Hiccup’s eyes snapped back to him. “Who’s who?”

Chris’ hazel eyes sparkled. “The person who’s distracting you,” he said, a teasing smile playing across his lips. “This is your figuring-out-your-next-move-with-a-romantic-conquest distracted face.”

“How do you know—”

“I’ve known you half a decade, Hiccup, since you were a virgin.”

“I wasn’t a—”

“And I have seen that face so many goddamn times.” Hiccup turned to glare at him, but he couldn’t even pretend to be mad at Chris. The scrunch fell out of his lips, and he sighed ruefully. “Come on,” Chris said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, she—”

“So she’s a she.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?”

Chris only raised his eyebrows at him.

“She made things a little more complicated,” Hiccup said. “She was the one who made the next move. She kissed me.”

“Is this the girl you were thinking of taking to the coast?”

Hiccup nodded.

“So when did it happen?”

“When we got back.”

“But why do you say she made things more complicated?” Chris asked. “It sounds like she made them simpler.”

“But how?” Hiccup demanded. “I still don’t really know what—”

“She told you what she wants,” Chris said. “Very clearly.” His iced coffee clinked as he raised it to his lips.

Hiccup took a sip of his own iced coffee. “You think so?”

“Kissing someone, especially after a trip like that, is a pretty clear message, Hiccup.”

Hiccup just stared.

“Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“It’s not hard to understand,” Hiccup said. “I get the logic. It’s… honestly, it’s hard to believe.”

“But why? Is this because of that thing last summer? Because I told you—” He stopped as Hiccup pulled out his phone, which had just buzzed. “See? That’s probably her now.”

And it was Astrid. Hiccup slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

“But what about you and that guy? Owen, right?”

Chris sighed. “It’s Clark. And you know it’s Clark, because when I told you about him you made that dumb _Gone with the Wind_ joke.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. He hadn’t thought the joke was that dumb.

The time seemed to slip by until it was late Saturday night, after the game, and Hiccup was standing outside Astrid’s door, clutching a bag of Chinese food.

The door opened, and Astrid was standing there, her hair still a little damp from the shower as it fell about her shoulders. 

“Are you sure about this?” Hiccup asked.

“I invited you here, didn’t I?” But she was nervous too; he could see it in the way her hands tugged at the hem of her shirt.

“Astrid, we don’t have to—”

As though the sound of her own name had broken whatever restraint was still holding her back Astrid reached out and grabbed Hiccup by the front of his shirt, pulling him into her as the door slammed shut behind him. He heard his backpack hit the floor, but the only thing he could think about was her face—her mouth—rushing toward his.

Their mouths meant in an explosion of sparks that emanated heat through Hiccup’s entire body. Whatever restraint he’d been hanging onto was blown away. This was nothing like the way she’d kissed him before; that had been tender, and tentative even in its certainty. But this was aggressive, demanding, full of heat. Chris was right—she was being very clear about what she wanted.

Even if he hadn’t been stupid hard from the second he first saw her, he would be now. Eyes closed, he reached out and let go of the food, vaguely if pleasantly surprised that it landed on the counter of the kitchen island rather than the floor. 

Astrid pulled her mouth away, and he groaned at how badly he wanted her. His shirt was off now. This time he bent down to her and crushed his mouth to hers, running her hands up her back as she gasped against his lips. 

Thor help him, she wasn’t wearing a bra. His hands met nothing but smooth, warm skin and started to come around to feel her breasts, but then he decided he had to see them. 

He pulled back for just a second to give her a quick, searching look, and when she nodded, he dragged the hem of her top up, and there they were, small and round and pink and utterly perfect. Her nipples were hard and peaked, and as he took one in his mouth, she moaned and knotted her fingers in the hair at the back of his head.

He got his hands behind her knees, and as she wrapped her hands around his neck to keep kissing him, he hoisted her onto one of the stools that stood next to the kitchen island so that she was sitting with her legs spread, and he was standing between them. 

She reached for the front of his jeans, but as her fingers started to undo the button, he lurched back, panting. “Wait,” he said.

“What? No. Why?” Astrid demanded. Her top was still pushed up under her arms, and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed was mesmerizing.

“We need to talk,” Hiccup said. “About babies, and—birth control. I mean birth control. I don’t have condoms. I didn’t want to assume.”

“That’s okay,” Astrid said. “I have the implant. Here, feel.” She stuck out her arm, and Hiccup reached out with two fingers to feel the little bump along her bicep.

“Okay,” he said, still breathing heavily. “That’s good.”

“Anything else?” she asked, taking her shirt the rest of the way off.

There was definitely more to talk about, but—

“It can wait,” he said, and, nodding, she pulled his face back down to hers.

This time, the kisses were just a touch slower, a bit less frantic as they realized that they were truly kissing each other, that they each wanted the other and wanted to be here. Astrid’s mouth opened beneath his, and as his tongue slipped between her lips, he felt her shiver beneath his hands. He palmed her breasts, gently flicking his thumbs over her nipples before wrapping his arms around her and placing his hands on her back the way he had all those months ago at the party. Her hands brushed over his face and through his hair as he slipped one of his down the back of her leggings and found to his delight as he was cupping her ass that she wasn’t wearing anything under there either. 

With the skin of their chests flush against each other, he could feel the warmth of her skin and the pounding of her heart. He knew she had wormed her hands back down and started undoing his pants, but it wasn’t until her hand closed over him through his underwear that this really registered.

He pulled back with a gasp, and her eyes met his. “Bed,” she panted, and he nodded. 

They scrambled upstairs, shedding clothes as they went and pausing every few feet for a few more quick, clinging kisses. By the time they got to Astrid’s bed, she was naked, and it was all Hiccup could do to stand there, staring, as she climbed into bed and turned to face him.

“Come here,” she said, tugging at the waistband of his underwear, and he obliged her, pulling them down and stepping out of them so he could kneel between her feet on the bed.

Her hand closed around his dick again, and she gave it a few strokes before murmuring, “Gods, you’re big.” Her eyes, when she looked up, were full of intention, and a smile played at the corners of her lips.

He only grinned as he kissed her again, pushing her onto her back and slipping one hand between her legs to find her impossibly slick as he ran his fingers over her folds. She made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine that sharpened into a full-on gasp as he found her clit, and her hands tightened on his shoulders until her nails were digging into his back, just shy of painful.

He slipped one finger inside her, then two, then three, and slowly he plunged them in and out of her, curling them so he could feel the spot just inside her that made her tremor every time he brushed against it. 

“Gods, I want to be inside you,” Hiccup whispered roughly, and when Astrid nodded, he withdrew his fingers and wrapped them instead around the shaft of his cock, guiding himself inside her as he planted the other hand next to her head. 

With a slow, shuddering breath, he sank into her, feeling her warmth envelop him even as her arms reached up to clasp around his neck. He slowly began to thrust, pausing when he heard her breath catch.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

She nodded, and there was no trace of discomfort on her face. “I’m good,” she said, smiling. “It’s like I said, you’re big.”

He kissed her again and again, picking up speed when she moaned encouragingly. “Oh shit, yes,” she whispered between kisses. “You feel so good, oh _fuck—_” She cut off as his hand found her clit again, subsiding into wordless moans, and though Hiccup wasn’t keeping track of time, it seemed like only seconds later when she gasped, “Hiccup,” her hands tightening once more on his shoulders. Only an instant after that, she was coming, squeezing down on him, her breath ragged and sharp in his ear, and only a few seconds after that, he felt his own climax building.

“Astrid,” he said, “I’m gonna—” And then her legs locked around his waist with one final squeeze, and he came deep inside her with a strangled moan.

He was barely able to keep from collapsing onto her, opening his eyes after a few seconds to see her staring up at him, smiling. Her face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, with little bits of hair sticking in places, and her cheeks were flushed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. He kissed her again, softly this time, until they were both limp, and then he rolled onto his side, sighing happily.

“That was amazing,” he said, still breathing heavily as he let himself fall onto his back.

“You’re telling me,” she said, and he smiled at the breathlessness in her voice. She took his hands, and even after what they’d just done, his skin prickled at her touch.

He felt his eyelids starting to slide shut.

“Don’t you dare sex coma on me,” Astrid said, her voice half-purr. “We’re not done yet.”

“‘M not—’M not gonna…” he said, though he knew he was dangerously close to doing so.

A moment later, there was a tiny, sharp pain in his shoulder, and his eyes snapped open. He quickly came to understand that she had pinched him.

“Ow! What was that for?” he asked. “I told you I wasn’t—”

“You did tell me that,” Astrid said. “And then you started snoring.”

“Oh.” Hiccup sat up against the headboard, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“You’re good,” Astrid said. She smiled, and the curve of her lips was so delicious he couldn’t help but kiss her. She kissed him back for a moment before pulling away. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom and grab the food. I assume you’re hungry?”

“I could eat,” Hiccup said, and the grin Astrid shot him over her shoulder told him she’d gotten the double meaning. She trotted downstairs, not bothering to put on any clothes. Not that Hiccup minded.

It was a few minutes later, as they were eating in bed, that Astrid asked, “So what changed?”

Hiccup thought about asking what she meant, but he knew what she meant. “You kissed me,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted before. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me. At least not like—that.” He gestured at the bed. He decided he was probably done eating—it was never good to fuck on too full a stomach—and closed up his takeout box. “I’m going to get some water. Want anything?”

“Only for you to hurry back,” Astrid said, and as Hiccup winked at her over his shoulder, both takeout boxes in hand, he was gratified to see her blush. 

When he came back upstairs, having drunk enough water to get the taste of chow mein out of his mouth, she hadn’t changed position. Much. She was still sitting, though she’d moved to the edge of the bed, and as he appeared, her knees drifted apart slightly. Hiccup smiled—the message wasn’t hard to get—and set the glass of water down on her nightstand. 

“I guess it’s a good thing we took a break, huh?” she said, glancing down. He was already getting hard again. 

He bent down and kissed her soundly, both hands in her hair, then kissed down her neck and between her breasts, bearing her back onto the bed. He sucked on each nipple for just a second before sliding his hands down and gently pulling her knees apart. By now, her face was growing pink again, and her breath was coming heavier.

Kneeling on the floor before her, he kissed the inside of each knee, meeting her gaze, and leaned in.

At the first long, slow lick up the length of her slit, she shuddered, gasping, and her fingers wove into his hair. She was already wet, and the taste of her made him even harder. He could taste himself on her too, if just a little. As he focused his attention on the little nub of nerves right at the place where her inner labia converged, reveling in the sounds she was making, she pulled her feet onto the bed one by one, spreading her legs even wider.

He slipped his fingers inside her again, and with the combined efforts of his hand and mouth, it wasn’t long before she was gasping his name and shaking through her orgasm. 

He watched as she lay there, panting, and then climbed into the bed, crawling up to kiss her. She met his eyes as he approached, and her gaze was arresting as she said, “On your back.”

“What?” 

She pulled his head down to kiss him, gently biting his bottom lip before pulling away. “I said, on your back,” she said, just as softly.

He obeyed happily enough, and he was glad he’d done so when he felt her lips brush the tip of his cock.

He sighed happily, a moan working its way out of his throat as he submitted to her attentions.

* * *

Astrid wakes to a line of slightly scratchy kisses making their way across the bare skin of her shoulder. Making a soft, contented noise in the back of her throat, she curls in on herself, trying to make her back as accessible as possible for him.

“Good morning,” Hiccup says behind her, his voice husky from sleep. He wraps his arm around her waist.

“Morning,” she says. She wriggles onto her back and smiles at him, not missing it when his eyes flick down to her chest for just a second. She can feel him pressing against the side of her hip beneath the blankets.

He leans over to kiss her. “That feels so good to do,” he says as he pulls away. 

“I know what you mean,” she says, smiling. He kisses her again, cradling her head in one hand as he comes up on the other elbow. In one swift motion, she takes him by the back of the neck and rolls them so she’s kneeling on top of him.

He grins up at her and pushes himself into a seated position. She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him, and as he responds, his hands run up her back, pulling her closer. The slight roughness of his palms makes her arch against him with a soft, breathy moan. 

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he says.

“And you don’t?” she says, glancing down at where their chests are pressed together.

“Of course I like it,” he murmurs, and as he kisses her, she can feel the evidence of that pressing against her ass. 

Holding his gaze, she slides along his length and tilts her hips to line herself up. Then, once she’s centered over, him, she lowers herself down. Shutting her eyes as he moans, partway inside her, she opens them again to see him looking at her, his eyes full of wonder and that same singular, thunderstruck expression he had on the beach.

“What?” she askes, smiling. 

“You’re just so beautiful,” he says. 

As she kisses him, she smiles against his lips and feels him do the same. She rides him slowly, relishing every sound he makes and the way he clings to her.

It’s afterwards, as they’re lying tangled up in each other, that she asks, “Was there more you wanted to talk about?”

“There is,” he says. “Maybe not here, though.” 

“Why not here?”

“I have a feeling we might get distracted.”

She looks into his face, remembering last night—how, upon discovering he’d gotten cum in her hair, they went downstairs to shower, and how, having washed the cum out of her hair, she turned to see him staring at her in something like awe, his dick rock-hard. And how he fucked her against the shower wall, which was a little tricky since he’d taken his prosthetic leg off before getting in the shower, but they made it work. And as he pointed out at the time, he’s good at balancing. And then, on the way back from the shower, they started kissing and ended up falling onto the loveseat. 

And just a little while ago this morning, when she was instantly good to go just from him kissing her back.

“You may have a point,” she says. 

Hiccup has been watching her remember, a blush rising in his face that is the twin of the one she knows she’s wearing, and now he laughs softly, leaning forward to kiss her. “Why don’t we go out?” he suggests. “I still owe you brunch.”

“Yes,” Astrid says at once. “It’s Sunday, though. Won’t they be busy?”

“It’s early enough that we might beat the rush,” Hiccup says. 

“Perfect.” Astrid launches herself out of bed and starts opening drawers, pulling out lacy underwear and a balled-up pair of socks. But she doesn’t get farther than pulling on the socks before Hiccup, still in bed behind her, makes a strangled, almost pained noise in his throat.

She straightens up and looks over her shoulder at him. He’s covered from the waist down by the blankets, but even that doesn’t quite hide his arousal. His eyes are wide as he looks at her, his hair is messy from sleep and sex, and she finds that the sight of him stretched out on her bed, pitching a tent in her covers, is one she can’t quite resist. 

Smiling, Astrid puts her undies on top of the dresser and climbs back into bed. 

By the time they leave, they are by no means early enough to even think of beating the brunch rush.

But Astrid doesn’t mind terribly. She’s a little sore—pleasantly so—as she and Hiccup walk across the better part of the city, or at least the portion of the city that’s west of the river. It’s cloudy, but the sun comes through every now and again as they walk. 

She wants to take Hiccup’s hand, but she doesn’t know how comfortable he is with showing affection in public, especially now that they’re… now that they’ve had sex. She’s not sure what that makes them. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet, no doubt nervous about whatever it is he wants to talk about. They walk in companionable silence, and as they walk, Astrid finds her mind slipping back to last night. It’s as they’re just about to cross the city’s main thoroughfare that he catches her looking at him. At once, she looks away, up at the tall building whose shadow they’re walking under. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice. 

“Hmm?” she says, turning back to him. “Oh, I—um.” Her eyes drop unintentionally to his mouth, and as she looks away, blushing furiously, she catches a glimpse of his smirk.

“Got it,” he says smugly.

She sighs, looking back at him. His smirk spreads into a grin, and she can’t help but smile back.

“So what changed for you?” Hiccup asks.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Well, why did you decide to go for it when you did?”

“The game was over,” she says, shrugging.

“What?”

“The rules weren’t there to say I couldn’t.”

“I mean, there are still rules. Social rules if not official ones.”

“Well, yes,” Astrid says, and now she does reach out and take his hand. “But they’re not our rules.”

He raises their joined hands and kisses the back of her hand before letting them swing between them once more. “But that’s it?” he asks. “That’s all that was holding you back?”

“Well, that and I did think you might just want to be friends.”

He looks at her incredulously. “How could you possibly think that?”

She shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t make a move either. And you kissed someone else in front of me. But then I saw your face on the beach, after that wave went up my skirt, and I realized you weren’t going to take the lead. So I did.” She pauses. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I—well, no,” Hiccup says. “I—I wanted to make sure we were clear on things. Because while I get that the last twelve hours or so have basically just been sex, and of course you’re just incredibly gorgeous and frankly amazing in—” She squeezes his hand. “Sorry, I digress. What I’m trying to say is that, at least for me, it’s not just sex. There’s… feelings there. Like, a lot of feelings. And I’m not saying that to put pressure on you or anything, I just want to be honest so that if it’s not the same for you, we know now, and—”

She squeezes his hand again, and he looks at her. “We’re on the same page,” she says, and he looks so happy, just for a second, that she has to smile too. “I should warn you, though. I’m not great at talking about feelings.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he says, then laughs as she pulls her hand away to shove at his shoulder, sending him staggering across the sidewalk.

When he comes back, he catches her up in his arms and kisses her. It’s light and soft, almost sparkling against her lips, and so different from the way they’ve been kissing that it takes her breath away. 

“Sorry,” he says, misinterpreting her sudden stillness. “Are you not a fan of PDA?”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, still a little breathless. 

“You sure?”

She nods, smiling. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay, cool.” Smiling too now, he kisses her again.

They turn for the first time in a good while, then again a block later, and then Hiccup is gesturing at the door of the restaurant they’re walking past. “Here’s the place.”

“Wow, this is fancy,” she says, and she just catches his grin as he holds the door for her. 

“Well, there’s a reason it’s one of the hottest brunch spots in the city,” he says, coming in behind her.

“Good morning,” says a slightly harried-looking hostess from her post at a lectern as they approach, practically wading through waiting groups. She smiles as they reach her. “How many?”

“Two, please,” Hiccup says. 

“Two. Okay.” She flips the page on her clipboard. “As you might be able to see, we’re a little packed. It’ll be about a half-hour wait for a table, or”—she looks over her shoulder—”it looks like a couple spots just opened up at the bar.”

Hiccup looks at Astrid. “Bar okay?”

She nods. “Bar’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Hiccup says to the hostess, and they head over. 

The bartender comes over a minute later. “Good morning,” he says cheerily. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a mom-osa, please,” Hiccup says.

“What’s a mom-osa?” Astrid asks.

“It’s a mimosa, but giant,” the bartender says. 

“I’ll have one too,” she says.

“Two mom-osas, coming up.”

She sees a moment later that he wasn’t kidding when he said they were giant. She has to lift hers with both hands. As she does so, taking a sip, the bartender asks, “Are you guys ready, or…”

“Maybe give us a minute,” Hiccup says. 

Astrid’s eyes slide over the rim of her glass to look at the bartender as he nods and says, “Sounds good. I’ll be back soon.”

Astrid sets her glass down and stars leafing through the menu. Besides her, Hiccup is doing the same. “Might I recommend the salmon hash?” he says. “It’s very good.”

Astrid glances at the page he’s on and flips to it, finding the salmon hash near the bottom. “You may,” she says. “That does look really good.” She shuts the menu and sets it down in front of her, taking another sip of the mom-osa.

When she turns to look at Hiccup, he’s studying her over the rim of his own mom-osa. She smiles at him and puts a hand on his knee. “Hey.”

He sets his glass down. “Hey,” he says, his voice slightly husky. He leans over to kiss her. It’s chaste enough, if quite warm, though she realizes as he’s pressing his lips to hers just how public it is—possibly even more so than on the street, since people are more likely to be paying attention to them here. All the same, she smiles at him when he pulls away.

“Made up your mind?” the bartender asks. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Hiccup says.

“We’ll both have the salmon hash,” Astrid said.

“All right,” the bartender says. “That’s a good choice. How do you want your eggs?”

“Scrambled, please,” they say in unison.

“Well, that’s handy,” Hiccup says a moment later.

“What is?”

“We like our eggs the same way,” he says. “That should make breakfasts easier.” 

She laughs through her nose. “You already knew that.”

“No, I just knew that you ate scrambled eggs when I made them for you.”

“Is there a difference?”

He shrugs. “Well, if you preferred anything besides scrambled, I’d have to learn how to make it.”

The hash, when it comes, is as tasty as he said, and as they emerge from the restaurant, Astrid feels delight bubbling up inside her. Or maybe that’s just the mom-osa.

“Thank you,” she says, taking his hand in hers.

He pulls her to him. “Of course,” he says, and when he kisses her she can taste the champagne and orange juice on his lips. “I owed you brunch, remember?”

She giggles. “Is this what you do with all the girls?” she asks. “Spend the night and then take them out for breakfast to thank them?”

He laughs. “Definitely not. At least not recently.”

Her stomach gurgles as she food starts to settle. “Gods, I’m full,” she says. “That was amazing.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’ve got a while to walk it off before we get home, then, huh?”

She doesn’t think he called her place “home” intentionally, and either way she doesn’t want to point it out. It’s not as though she minds terribly. There’s a light in his eyes that makes her wish they were home already, full stomachs or no.

“Better get moving then,” she says, and together they set off into what has just become the afternoon.

* * *

The next morning, Hiccup woke with a groan to the sound of his alarm going off. He scrabbled for his phone and finally managed to turn the alarm off. 

“What is that?” Astrid grumbled beside him.

“My alarm, sorry.” 

“This is when you have to get up?” she asked incredulously. “Ugh, office jobs.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “You get up way before this most of the time.”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have to go straight to work.” She stretched out her arms, one fist bumping the headboard. “And Monday is usually my sleeping-in day.” 

“Well, I’m sorry for disturbing your routine,” he said, then grinned in response to her mock-glare. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “this is when I’d have to get up to make it to work on time if I were out at my dad’s place. But since I’m already in town…”

“You have extra time?” she asked, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“I have some extra time,” he confirmed, smiling back, and gave a startled laugh as she dived on him.

The team was slated to spend the day making sure the city council presentation was ready for the meeting the next day. When Hiccup walked into the office, wearing clothes that he’d had in his backpack when he got to Astrid’s apartment, the office was already boiling over, like a beehive about to swarm. 

“Hiccup!” called Natasha, one of the leads of his team, as he walked pat her office toward his own. “Meeting room in fifteen.”

“I’ll be there,” he said. 

And he was, sitting with his back to the windows and his work laptop in front of him when she walked in. Chris, right behind her, let out a silent whistle as he saw Hiccup’s face. 

“When was the last time you were at home?” he asked, hours later, as they sat down on another park bench.

Ragnar and Natasha had finally let them out for lunch. Although Ragnar’s name was the one on the door, Natasha was masterminding the bridge project just as much as he was. And she deserved the leadership role—she was legitimately a genius, and for years she’d been lauded as an up-and-coming black woman engineer. She’d even given a guest lecture in one of Hiccup’s civil engineering classes as a favor for the professor who had been her mentor when she was a student there. She was intense, though, and rigorous, and expected the same rigor from the people she worked with.

“Not since before the game on Saturday,” Hiccup said.

“Damn,” Chris said. “I mean, you definitely look like you had a good weekend, but that is impressive.”

“What do you mean?” Hiccup asked. “How can you tell—”

“You have one hell of an afterglow going on,” Chris said, laughing.

Hiccup couldn’t help but laugh too, though he knew he was blushing. 

The meeting the next day went well—so well, in fact that as the team poured out onto the steps of City Hall, Ragnar announced he would be taking them all out for drinks later that evening. The city council had voted overwhelmingly in the Ashford team’s favor, and it was all but certain that they would get the bridge contract. The councillors had responded well both to the idea of actually using pieces of the old bridge to give the new bridge its aesthetic, which was Ragnar’s idea, and the efficient timeline and relatively low cost of materials, which was Natasha’s.

Krogan’s teeth had ground together, and though Viggo’s face had stayed as impassively amused as ever, Hiccup had seen the frustration behind his eyes. He had to admit, it was pretty satisfying.

“Hey, do you want to walk down to the bridge?” Chris asked Hiccup. The two of them had broken off from the rest of the team as they came out of City Hall. “We still have a couple hours before we’re supposed to meet up.”

“Sure,” Hiccup said. The bridge was maybe half a mile away; they had plenty of time to get there and back. “It’ll be good to see the thing we’re going to be working on.”

They were halfway across the bridge, looking up at the metal frame, when it happened. 

Hiccup had taken off his jacket and was rolling up his sleeves. At either end of the bridge, several pickup trucks roared to life. A gale of all-too-familiar laughter made Hiccup spin on his heel. 

There was a man standing fifty feet away He was a little shorter than Hiccup, with the same spiky red hair and beard that Hiccup remembered. The scar going down one side of his face was new, though. He was holding a rolled-up banner, though as he turned and saw Hiccup, his grip slackened, and the banner fell to the ground, still rolled up. 

“No!” he shouted. “No no no no. You weren’t supposed to be here. They said you wouldn’t be here!”

Hiccup could only think of one thing to say: “Dagur?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment; as always, I do love feedback!


	10. The Other Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup makes several mistakes, and Astrid loses her shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, you guys have no idea how close we came to a four-week hiatus on this story. I wasn't sure this was going to be ready for today, and it definitely wasn't going up next weekend, and due to some personal stuff and Hiccup's birthday, it wasn't going up either of the next two weeks either.
> 
> But here it is! I hope you like it!

Astrid’s not sure what she was expecting when Hiccup called to tell her he was on his way over from the hospital, and that he was fine, there had just been an accident, but it certainly wasn’t this.

When she opens the door, he’s standing there, looking completely drained. Paint is splattered across his face and legs, and when he trudges in past her, taking off his jacket—which is miraculously clean—there’s a perfectly round splash of dried orange paint centered between his shoulder blades. But most alarming of all, she sees as he turns back around to face her, is the large patch of what is definitely dried blood on the front of his shirt. 

“Hiccup,” she says in horror, stepping toward him as the door swings shut behind her. 

He raises a hand to wave her off. “It’s not mine,” he says, sounding dead tired. “It’s Chris’s.”

“Chris—Hiccup, what the hell happened?”

“He’s okay,” Hiccup says. “There were a bunch of guys with paintball guns in trucks. They were just trying to mess up the bridge, but we got caught in it. He stepped in front of me and got hit in the face. He fell and hit his head on the guard rail. He’s got a pretty bad concussion, but the doctor said he’ll be okay. And—“ he gestures at his chest. “Head injuries bleed a lot.”

“He was trying to protect you?”

Hiccup nods. “Leg.” 

“Oh. Right.”

Astrid can just imagine Hiccup crouching over Chris, cradling him to his chest, protecting him as Chris had tried to protect Hiccup. That must have been when he got hit in the back.

“I don’t have a concussion, though. I got checked.”

“At the hospital?”

He nods. “I took off when his dad got there. I… I don’t like hospitals.”

“I get why you wouldn’t,” Astrid says. She’s trying to stay calm, but she has to admit she’s not doing the best job of it.

She can see it in Hiccup’s face when he decides to tell her the next thing. “I had a panic attack,” he says slowly. “I’m honestly still kind of on the tail end of it.”

Astrid doesn’t know much about helping someone who’s having a panic attack, but she’s willing to bet that freaking out the way she wants to isn’t going to help. “Did… did they do anything about it at the hospital?” she asks, trying to keep her voice level.

“No, I’m… I’m pretty good at keeping people from seeing when I’m having one. And I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Can I hug you?” she asks.

“Not with—" He gestures at his shirt. “I don’t want you to get messy.”

“Then take your shirt off,” Astrid says.

He gives her an appraising look before he does so, but he does it, his fingers shaking as he undoes the buttons. She helps him ease the shirt off his shoulders, which have got to be hurting him, and they stand there for a second looking at each other before he takes a faltering step toward her.

She wraps her arms around him, and even though he’s warm and solid beneath her hands, she can feel him shaking. “Why don’t you take a shower?” she murmurs. “I can wash your clothes.”

“Not the suit,” he says. That’ll have to be dry cleaned. If it’s even—“ For the first time, his voice threatens to break. 

“Then just your other clothes,” she says, folding his shirt over her arm. 

He nods and undoes his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor and stepping out of them. He goes to the bathroom for the rest, handling her his underwear and socks—there’s blood in the waistband of his underwear and one of the socks, she notices—through the partially open door. 

“You’ll want to run them under—“ he starts.

“Hiccup, I know how to get blood out of clothes,” Astrid says.

He blinks at her. “Oh. Right. That tracks.”

She hears the shower start running as she goes to her kitchen sink and turns on the cold water. It takes some scrubbing and wringing that probably isn’t good for the fabric, but she manages to get the blood out. That’s a moot point when it comes to the shirt, though; no matter how she scrubs, the paint stain on the back won’t come out. The paint itself has washed away, but there’s still a bright orange splotch six inches across that isn’t going anywhere. 

She doesn’t realize she’s crying, tears silently dripping down her face, until one lands on the front of her shirt and she looks down. She swipes at her eyes before peeling off the shirt and tossing it in the washer with Hiccup’s clothes. For good measure, she throws her leggings in too. 

Wearing only a tank top and her undies, she turns back toward the bathroom, thinking she’ll just check on him before she goes upstairs to put on fresh clothes.

He’s left the door open. She’s not sure if he meant it as an invitation, but he doesn’t object as she goes in and sits on the closed toilet lid.

Of course, he doesn’t see her either. His eyes are shut, and he’s sitting on the shower floor, cross-legged, under the stream of hot water. His hair is wet and pushed back from his face, but he hasn’t done anything to wash himself; he’s just sitting there, breathing deeply, which she figures is probably valid. His face is peaceful in a way she’s not used to, even when he’s asleep, and she finds herself wondering how long it took him to teach himself that. There is a bruise starting to come up on his back, though she knows it won’t reach its full vibrancy for days.

She notices a trickle of blood going down the side of his prosthetic and moistens a piece of toilet paper to wipe it off. He opens his eyes at the sound of the sink and watches her as she bends over to clean off the plastic. 

“Yeah, I cut my knee,” he says, and she can see the scrape just a few inches above where his left calf ends. “It’s probably part of what triggered the—“ He trails off, gesturing. 

“Do you want some company?” Astrid asks.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Hiccup says. “I should warn you, though, I’m probably not up for—“

“I know,” she says. “No expectations there. It’s just you’ve got paint in the back of your hair." 

For the first time, he smiles. It’s small and faint, but definitely there. “Come on in, then.”

She stands up and gets undressed, turning away from him to do so. As she drops her bra onto the pile of her undies and tank top, she turns around to see that he’s shut his eyes again.

She climbs into the tub and kneels down behind him, pumping some shampoo into her hand and getting to work. The paint is stubborn, but she is more so, and she tries to be gentle as she pulls it from his hair bit by bit. 

“Hey, Astrid?” Hiccup says, letting her pull his head back so she can rinse out his hair. The back of his skull nestles distractingly against her boobs, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here.” He pauses. “For helping me.”

“I’m happy to,” she says, getting some conditioner and massaging it into his scalp. “I’m glad you came here.”

“Me too,” Hiccup says. “My dad would’ve gone berserk if I’d shown up at home covered in blood.” His hand reaches up and gently tugs at the end of her braid, which has been dripping water down his back. He narrowly misses her breast. “Let me return the favor?”

She hesitates for just a second—he’s the one who needs comforting, after all—before she says, “Sure,” and pulls the ponytail holder free. 

He gets up on his knees and turns to face her, reaching for the shampoo as he does. He lets out a hiss of pain as he bumps the scrape on his knee, but when she gives him a worried look, he only twirls one index finger to indicate that she should turn around. She does so, sitting down on the shower floor, and a moment later his fingers are sinking into her hair. A moan builds in her chest, and though it doesn’t cross her lips, it does rumble deep in her throat at just how gloriously, sinfully _good_ it feels. 

“You’re good at that,” she comments.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was innate talent?”

She snorts. “No.”

“That’s fair.”

After a moment of silence she asks, “Are you planning on going home tonight?”

“Probably,” he says.

“You’re welcome to stay here if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’d better not. My dad will want to see me after what happened. Make sure I’m okay and all that.”

Astrid wants to object. If he has a nightmare she wants to be there to comfort him, and they certainly wouldn’t get away with that at Stoick’s house, but she also doesn’t want to pressure him. And besides, she wouldn’t be surprised if he slept completely without dreams, as tired as he is.

“All right,” she says. “When your clothes are dry, I’ll give you a ride home. And remind me to get a band-aid for your knee.”

Rachel gives her all of three days.

At first, Astrid thinks she’s imagining it. But eventually, she has to acknowledge that, no, Rachel is watching her, is throwing her surreptitious looks from across the pitch and peering at her when she thinks she’s not looking in yoga and glancing away right when Astrid turns her head toward her.

If Astrid didn’t know better, she might think Rachel’s developing a crush on her.

But she does know better. Not only is Astrid the last person Rachel could ever find attractive, but the looks she’s giving her also aren’t those kinds of looks. Rachel looks angry, impatient, resigned, annoyed—just generally done with Astrid. And that tracks. But what doesn’t make sense are the flashes of worry that pass across Rachel’s face.

Rachel is concerned. About her.

And that pisses Astrid off even more than the staring.

She hasn’t exactly tried to hide the fact that she’s in a remarkably good mood this week, and enough people have guessed why—though not who, as far as she can tell. But as the week wears on, and the weekend with Hiccup gets farther away, the good mood fades, accelerated by Rachel’s suddenly intensified scrutiny. The annoyance bubbles up inside her until she’s answering each and every one of Rachel’s looks with a withering glare.

All the old resentment comes back up, too, all the shit she thought she was past in the weeks since her red card. They’ve been civil since she came back, though plenty short of friendly. 

Astrid isn’t feeling civil now, though. It’s all she can do to not have a repeat of the first day of practice, when she kicked a ball into Rachel’s face. 

But she stays out of Rachel’s way, or tries to, at least, and by and large Rachel does the same.

Until she doesn’t.

It’s Thursday after practice, and Astrid is the last one in the locker room. Or at least she thinks she is, until a tentative voice says, “Hey, Hofferson? Astrid?”

She looks up from her phone, where she’s been scrolling through photos of the vandalized bridge and the city’s efforts to get the paint off. They’re doing better than she did—on the sections of the bridge where they’ve finished cleaning, it’s impossible to tell that anything happened.

Rachel is standing there, looking uncharacteristically hesitant, twisting the end of her ponytail nervously in her fingers. 

Astrid stands up from the bench she’s been sitting on. “What?”

She’s taller than Rachel by several inches, but the other woman doesn’t look particularly intimidated. Just nervous. She only swallows and says without preamble, “It’s for real this time, isn’t it?”

Astrid feels like she’s been hit by a truck. She doesn’t have to ask what Rachel’s talking about, and from the way Rachel’s lips press together, she sees enough in Astrid’s face to confirm it without Astrid saying anything.

But she says it anyway. “And what if it is?”

“Look,” Rachel says, her tone infuriatingly placating. “I know we’re not friends. I know you don’t like me, and that’s fine; I really don’t like you either. But that doesn’t matter. We’re teammates, and we’re coworkers, and I respect you. I really do. You’re a great player, and you’ve really done a lot for the team.”

Astrid might believe the words more if they didn’t sound like Rachel was choking them out.

“And that’s why… that’s why I want you to be careful. You need to be careful, Astrid. You have a lot of potential, and I’d hate to see you squander it. I’d hate to see you have to leave the team because you slept with the wrong person. Because you slept with—with Hiccup.”

“What the—why the fuck would I have to leave the team over that?” Astrid demands.

There’s a few seconds of silence as Rachel schools her face into careful, impassive stillness. It’s only in the hazel of her eyes that Astrid can still see the worry. Finally, she shrugs.

“I mean, I almost had to.”

Astrid’s vision goes white.

* * *

The afternoon sun beat down on Hiccup’s shoulders as he and Dagur walked across the park. Dagur had pulled his jacket on and was now transferring his personal effects back into his pocket from the gallon-sized plastic bag the lady at the front desk of the jail had given him. Hiccup didn’t know how he could wear a jacket in this heat, but then there was a lot about Dagur he didn’t understand. 

“Hey, Hiccup,” Dagur said. “I, uh, I just wanted to say I appreciate you coming to pick me up.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Hiccup said. “I’m just sorry it took so long. It took a while to talk your dad into bailing you out.”

“Stepdad,” Dagur corrected him automatically. He sighed. “I guess I should be grateful he did it at all. And that bail was as low as it was.”

Hiccup smiled wryly. “You know, time was that once you were in a scheme with someone, you wouldn’t have sold them out for anything.”

Dagur’s eyes flashed, and for a cautious, reflexive moment Hiccup thought it might be at him before Dagur said, “Yeah, well, that was before I was the only one who got picked up by the cops. And before the DA said that she’d be able to knock my charges down from a felony to a misdemeanor if I agreed to testify.” He sighed. “I hate felonies.”

Hiccup was a little taken aback at how casually he said that, like how someone in an office might say they hated traffic, or his dad might say he hated vegetarian lasagna. Of course, this was Dagur. He encountered felonies with rather more frequency than Stoick encountered vegetarian lasagna. Or lasagna of any sort.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We can get food if you want.”

“Sure, food sounds good,” Dagur said. “Don’t you need to be getting back to work, though? It’s only four.” 

“They’re pretty flexible,” Hiccup said. “And I told them I was leaving early to meet a friend. Though they might not be so flexible if they knew who I was meeting.”

“Yeah,” Dagur said, not meeting Hiccup’s eyes. “That guy you were with, is he okay? He hit his head pretty hard.”

“He’ll be fine,” Hiccup said. “He’s taking the next couple weeks off work, though.”

“You know, Hiccup, I’m sorry about that,” Dagur said. “I really didn’t think you were going to be there.”

“I know, Dagur.”

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t have second thoughts about meeting me.”

Hiccup had had second thoughts. And third thoughts. But he believed Dagur when he said he hadn't thought Hiccup would be at the bridge. Hiccup and Chris hadn’t planned to go or anything; it had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse to go down and see it, and they hadn’t told anyone they were going. Which had made the phone call to Ragnar on the way to the hospital all the more awful.

And the thing was, Dagur probably could have gotten off the bridge with the rest of his crew before the police got there. But he hadn’t, because upon hearing Hiccup’s shout as Chris fell and the way Hiccup had yelled in pain as the paintball struck him between the shoulder blades, Dagur had run toward them instead of off the bridge and to safety. Hiccup’s ears had been too full of the rush of blood to hear anything Dagur said, but his eyes had been full of horror when he’d seen the blood covering Chris’ face and the front of Hiccup’s shirt. By the time Hiccup was climbing into the ambulance after Chris’ gurney, Dagur had been loaded into the back of a police car. He’d met Hiccup’s eyes for just a second, and Hiccup had seen remorse in his face, which was rare for Dagur to say the least. 

Hiccup shrugged. “It would be different if it seemed like you’d planned it, or if Chris had been more badly injured. It surprised your dad too, when I—”

“Stepdad,” Dagur snapped. 

“Stepdad. Sorry.”

Dagur sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to do better holding my temper lately.”

It was as they were sitting down on a bench, plastic containers of Thai food in hand, that Dagur asked, “So you and that Chris guy. Is that a thing, or…”

“He has a boyfriend,” Hiccup said.

“You seemed really protective of him on the bridge.”

Hiccup shrugged. “Yeah, well, he’s my friend.” He didn’t mention the time he and Chris had hooked up; while he wasn’t planning on holding a grudge, he didn’t exactly trust Dagur either, especially given his hunch on who had orchestrated the attack on the bridge. It all added up—it had only happened after it became clear that Krogan’s team probably wouldn’t be getting the contract, only those in the city council meeting would have known that, and he—Hiccup—wasn’t supposed to be there. 

He didn’t know how closely Dagur was connected to Drago, but he wasn’t going to put Chris at any further risk by informing either of them of the connection they had. Chris didn’t have the protection of being the son of Stoick the Vast.

“So are you seeing anyone?” Dagur asked.

Hiccup gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. “Are you really hitting on me two days after you were involved in a scheme that could have gotten me killed?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Dagur pointed out.

This was true. 

“And if it worked, that wouldn’t be the first time either.”

Also true. 

Hiccup just gave Dagur a look. 

“So are you?”

“I am, as a matter of fact.” His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket to glance at it. “That’s her, actually. Apparently she wants to talk about something.”

“Did I ever tell you what happened with my dad?” Dagur asked, and Hiccup shot him another look, a little startled by the swing into this new subject.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. They’d met when Hiccup was a freshman in high school and Dagur was a junior—though he was three years older, he’d only been two years ahead of Hiccup in school. He’d been one of the few people who had acted normally after the accident, which was to say, of course, that he’d still picked on Hiccup mercilessly, just not because of the wheelchair or the prosthetic leg that had replaced it a month into Hiccup’s sophomore year. By that time, Dagur hadn’t seen his dad in years.

“He and my mom split up pretty soon after I was born,” Dagur said. “I guess the whole have-a-baby-to-save-the-relationship thing didn’t work out for them. And then, not even three years later, he was married again with a new baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup said. “That really sucks.”

“And I only ever met Heather one time,” Dagur went on. “After that, my dad gave Mom full custody, and I haven’t seen him since. You try to float your sister down the river in a basket one time…”

“Wait, what did you say her name was?” Hiccup asked, starting to panic.

“Heather,” Dagur repeated. “You don’t know her, do you?”

Hiccup’s head was spinning. He’d known that Heather’s dad had been married before he’d met her mom, but he hadn’t ever heard that she had a brother. Maybe she didn’t even know—if she was young enough when it happened, she probably didn’t remember the basket incident.

And looking at Dagur now, he did see the resemblance. Especially the eyes—their eyes were the same shade of bright, rich green, identical to Heather’s father’s—to their father’s. And, as he remembered now, they had the same way of scrunching up those eyes right before—

Hiccup found himself wishing he didn’t know that and tried not to think about it. 

“You do know her,” Dagur said, and then, because he’d spent a lot of time learning the way Hiccup looked when he was different kinds of scared and uncomfortable, he gave a peal of the crowing laugh that had earned him the nickname “the Deranged” when they were kids. “You’ve slept with her, haven’t you? Man, I feel like I should be mad at you or something, but I feel like that would be hypocritical.” He laughed again. “Can you believe it, brother? What a coincidence.”

Hiccup shut his eyes. “Please don’t call me brother.”

“Yeah, that’s probably fair,” Dagur acknowledged. “But you have to admit it’s funny.”

“It’s not funny,” Hiccup insisted, though a slightly hysterical smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s weird, and fucked-up, and—”

Dagur laughed again, and this time Hiccup couldn't help but laugh too, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, gods.” As he looked up, though, he saw something that killed the laugh in his throat. 

A black sedan was parked on the street not too far from them. It had pulled up not long after they’d arrived, and neither it nor the shadowy figure inside had moved. Hiccup hadn’t really been paying attention, but now his stomach sank. 

“Did the DA tell you you were going to have people protecting you?” he asked. 

“No, she didn’t think it was necessary. Why?”

“Don’t look now, but there’s a guy in a car over there. I think he’s watching us.”

Of course, Dagur twisted to look over his shoulder. Turning back to Hiccup, he said, “Huh. Well, that’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” Hiccup said. “Meeting up might have been a mistake. I’m sure that it isn’t good for you to be seen with me right now. I don’t think they’ll do anything while I’m here, though. Do you have a safe place nearby where you can go?”

Dagur nodded. “Yeah, my apartment’s in a secured building.”

“How’d you get an apartment?” Hiccup asked.

“The rent is high enough that they don’t do a background check.”

“How do you—” Hiccup started to ask, then decided he didn’t want to know.

Dagur sighed. “It’s not like that. I only moonlight. Most of the time I’m a bartender. Or I was. I’m really going to owe people for covering my shifts.”

“Well, I appreciate you coming to check on me and Chris,” Hiccup said. “I know you might not have gotten caught if you’d just run.”

Surprise flashed in Dagur’s eyes, as though he hadn’t realized that Hiccup had done that math too. “Yeah, well, I’m just glad you’re both okay,” he said.

Hiccup stood. “Shall we? I’ll walk you home.”

Dagur nodded, and Hiccup let him lead the way out of the park. 

Once Dagur had disappeared inside his building, Hiccup looked around to get his bearings and started walking toward the nearest ALEX line. Astrid had said to meet him at a bar not too far from where she lived, across the river from where he was now.

He really needed to talk to her.

* * *

His face shifts when he sees her. As she walks up to his booth in the bar she told him to meet her at, he’s preoccupied, looking down at his phone like he’s trying to decide whether to text someone.

When she drops her bag on the bench opposite him, he looks up, and his face instantly goes from distressed contemplation to wariness, maybe even outright fear. She finds some satisfaction in that. As she sits down, Astrid knows she’s not hiding her anger. Nor is she trying to, not really. Let him see it.

“Astrid, what’s wrong?” Hiccup asks, and she has to acknowledge that at least he’s not trying to pretend he doesn’t see her anger. 

“Is it true?” she asks him.

He blinks at her. “Is what true?”

“I talked to Rachel.”

It hits him like a truck, his face showing both shock and the realization that something he’s been dreading has come to fruition. It takes him a few seconds to regain his voice, and when he does, he asks, “Can we talk about this in private.”

“No,” she says. “We’re doing this now.” The women at the booth behind him are glancing over at them, though it seems less like they recognize Hiccup or Astrid and more like they’re just morbidly curious.

She sees him consider trying to bullshit his way out of this, and she’s not sure if it’s because he doesn’t think she’d buy it or he can’t bring himself to lie to her, but she sees him decide not to too. “Yeah, it’s true,” he says quietly, and that makes her rage spike. She clenches her fists beneath the table. “What… what exactly did she tell you?”

“That you slept with her, and she almost had to quit because of it.” One of the woman’s eyes go wide—the one facing Astrid—and Astrid fixes her with a glare so harsh that her gaze falls to the table in front of her. 

Astrid's eyes snap back to Hiccup as he says, “She wouldn’t have had to quit,” and it might just be that she’s already angry, but he sounds dismissive. “But yeah, it… it happened.”

The blood roars in her ears again, and she realizes that, despite all logic, there’s a facet of her anger that is not just because he slept with Rachel. No, on a bizarre level, she’s angry at him on Rachel’s behalf. “So you make a habit of it, then.”

He chuckles uncomfortably. “I mean, I wouldn’t call it a habit.”

The forced nonchalance grates at Astrid. She stands, she’s not sure what for, and she twists to head out the door before she can do something stupid. Hiccup follows, tossing a bill on the table that surely has to be way too much for his half-drunk beer. 

“You forgot this,” he says on the sidewalk outside, and when she turns back, he’s holding out her bag at arm’s length. 

She snatches it from him. “Thanks,” she says, her tone rather less than thankful.

Hiccup sighs. “Astrid, I—”

That sets her off again. “How could you let this happen?” she demands. “Twice.”

“I don’t know,” Hiccup says. “Obviously it was a mistake. Not—not you. You weren’t—aren’t. Her. But I promise, it’s not going to—”

“I know it’s not,” she snaps. “It’s like you said, you don’t have that power. But of all the stupid, irresponsible things—” She stops, realizing her voice is shaking. “And it’s clearly a pattern for you,” she goes on. “Picking a girl on the team to sleep with. We must be like a buffet for you.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not like that—”

“And the worst part is, I believed you. All that shit you said about feelings. But you were just using me. I was just convenient for you. I was just there to help you get a job. And all those places you took me—how many of those were places you found with her? That breakfast place where we went when Heather was in town—I know it’s not that far from where she lives. You must have taken her there too.” She doesn't even know if she totally believes what she’s saying, but she can’t stop. 

“Astrid, no—”

“It just had to be her, didn’t it?”

“I know,” he says. “It was stupid, and it never should have happened.”

“No shit, it shouldn’t have happened,” Astrid says. “But why did it have to be her?”

“I don’t know. She was there. What do you want me to say?”

For the first time, some heat enters his voice, but it’s too little, too late. Because although she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted when she started this—whether she wanted him to defend himself of to grovel—he hasn’t been giving it to her. He’s just been standing there, taking it. And she does know now what she wants. She wants him to fight back. She wants him to fight for her.

She wants him to choose her. 

And he’s not doing that, not really. He’s just standing there, not denying it.

“Just tell me one thing,” she says. “Is she one of the six, or one of the twenty?”

She can see him wanting so badly to lie to her, but he says, very quietly, “One of the six.”

“And I’m just one of the twenty.”

“I mean, that’s really up for debate,” he says, veering for some _fucking_ reason back into his stupid defensive humor. 

She turns and starts walking away.

His voice cracks as he says, “Astrid—”

She wheels on him, ready to launch into another diatribe, but the look on his face stops her short. She realizes two things in quick succession: the expression is one of hurt, unbuffered for once by humor or sarcasm, and she knows for a fact that this is not the first time she has hurt him. It is only the first time he has allowed himself to show it so plainly.

That opens up a whole new line of speculation about why genuine expressions of hurt like this one are so rare in him. And that pisses her off even more because right now she doesn’t _want_ to feel empathetic for him, she wants to feel justified at being pissed at him, and this is fucking that up.

It’s just as well that she turns on her heel and storms off, because the look that crosses his face as she walks away from him would make her positively livid if she saw it.

It doesn’t occur to her until later—much later—that the reason she saw that look of hurt on his face—the reason he let her see it—might say more about the way he feels about her than anything to do with Rachel fucking Denbrough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As always, I live by and for feedback and comments. If you are angry with me, and I can see why you would be, I will take your anger and merely promise that the next chapter is coming next week.


	11. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Astrid swallows her pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this is late, but someone had a rough week at work and then forgot that white wine gives them migraines. So here we are. 
> 
> Enjoy!

He didn’t see her for two months.

Two weeks in—two weeks of Hiccup doing nothing but working and spending time in his room alone—Stoick stepped into Hiccup’s way as he was headed back to his room with his dinnertime bowl of cereal. 

Hiccup had seen this coming; he’d watched for the last several days as his dad had worked up the gumption to talk to him.

“Hiccup,” Stoick said, as softly as he was capable of. “Did you and Astrid—” 

“Dad—”

“—have a fight?”

Hiccup let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah. Yeah, we had a fight.”

He thought he saw realization dawn in his dad’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at it, so he brushed past. His dad let him do it, but as Hiccup reached his bedroom door, Stoick said roughly, “Son.”

Hiccup turned back. “Yeah, Dad?”

“What I was trying to say, the day before you told me what was going on—”

“Dad, please, I don’t—”

“I was trying to say that, if there was something between you, we might have been able to work something out,” his dad said. “If you’d come to me about it. I thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Hiccup said after a moment. Then he went into his room and shut the door behind him.

He had the dream that night, for the first time in months. He woke, the sound of his own scream echoing in his ears, as he sat bolt upright in bed. He was bare-chested; he’d slept in just his underwear to try to combat the summer heat. He was soaked in sweat anyway, but he supposed that had more to do with the nightmare than with the heat. 

He slouched forward, panting, trying to get his heart to slow down.

A few seconds later, Stoick rapped three times on the door. “Son?” he called. It was part of the routine they’d worked out in the months after Hiccup lost his leg, when he’d sometimes woken up after a nightmare unable to move or speak because of sleep paralysis. If Hiccup didn’t answer in a few seconds, Stoick would come in to try and help him.

“I’m okay, Dad,” he called now, though he wasn’t sure that was precisely true. He knew what had caused the dream; he’d lain awake for hours, thinking about what his dad had said. And that had made him spiral. He’d wrestled with himself, going back to the same things over and over, about whether he’d done the right thing. He knew he hadn’t, not with Rachel and certainly not with Astrid. But he didn’t know how he could have done better either.

“All right,” Stoick said. “Just let me know if you need me.” His footsteps faded away back down the hall to his room. 

He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that his dad had remembered their old system, and that he’d adopted it again so quickly when he’d heard Hiccup cry out.

Part of him hated admitting that he’d needed his dad to check on him, hated that weakness. And he knew it wasn’t really weakness—trauma wasn’t weakness, he reminded himself. Needing help wasn’t weakness. And part of him was glad that, even after everything that had happened these past few months—years, really—his dad had come to check on him.

He felt weak, though.

He turned onto his side, facing away from the door. He felt like the air was being pulled out of his lungs too quickly for the deep breaths he was sucking in to refill them. He curled in on himself, and as his breath began to squeak in his throat, he pulled his spare pillow over to him and buried his face in it, determined not to let his dad hear him cry even if he had already heard him scream. He didn’t know why he cared, except that Stoick would probably try to talk to him about it the next day, and Hiccup didn’t think he could take that. 

He hadn’t cried about what had happened yet—somehow he’d managed to shut that part of himself off—but talking to his dad, hearing Astrid’s name, seemed to have switched it back on, and he did cry now. 

He dreamed again the next night, and when Stoick came to the door, he sent him away again. This happened over and over until it had been three weeks since he’d seen Astrid—not every night, but close enough. 

Eventually, he stopped sleeping for the most part, rationalizing that if he didn’t sleep, he wouldn’t dream. He threw himself into work instead, burning through projects and assignments way ahead of schedule. He worked late into the night to do so, slumping over his desk for the little sleep he did get, and if Stoick noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

Ragnar did, though. Half an hour after lunch on a Monday following a Saturday where Hiccup had sent emails to Ragnar at 3:02, 3:27, and 4:09 AM, he was woken from a light doze by a tapping on the door frame of his office. 

Hiccup lifted his chin off his hand and looked up at his boss. “Sorry about that,” he said, forcing a smile. “I got a coffee during lunch, but it doesn’t seem to have done anything.”

“That’s actually what I came in here to talk to you about,” Ragnar said, sitting down across from Hiccup. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Hiccup said. “Sleeping a ton. Good sleep too.”

Ragnar’s lips quirked. “Somehow I don’t quite believe you.” 

“I—”

“Listen, Hiccup. As long as you’re getting your work done, you’re perfectly entitled to sleep as much or as little as you’d like in your personal time. And whatever is going on with you, it’s not affecting your work. Yet. But as your boss, and as your friend’s dad, I’m a little worried. Just—try and get some sleep, okay?”

Hiccup nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll try.”

“And stop sending me emails at three in the morning.”

Hiccup cracked a smile. “I can definitely do that.” 

“Good.” Ragnar stood. “Look, I know it’s not really my place, but sleep is the first thing doctors tell you to do for—all kinds of things. And for the firm’s sake—for your sake—you need to take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Ragnar.”

After that, he figured out how to schedule his emails so that they arrived later in the morning, by which time he had inevitably passed out. And if Ragnar thought there was anything weird going on when he got several emails from Hiccup at precisely 11:15 the next Sunday morning, he didn’t bring it up.

Two days later, Hiccup got the first full night’s sleep he’d gotten in weeks, and again he had the dream, and again he woke up screaming, and again his dad came to the door.

But this time, Hiccup did something different.

“Could you come in, Dad?” he asked.

Stoick eased the door open. As he stepped inside, his face was unusually cautious. “Are you okay, son?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Hiccup said. “Do you want to sit down, though?”

“Sure,” Stoick said, sitting down on the bed next to Hiccup’s knees. “So… what’s up?”

“I’m not sure,” Hiccup said. “I just didn’t want to tell you to go away again.”

Stoick chuckled, patting Hiccup’s shoulder with a hand that seemed to envelop it. His hands were so big, so unlike Hiccup’s own. “I’m just happy to be here for you.” He paused. “Same dream?”

It was always the same dream. “Yeah, same dream,” Hiccup said. 

“This fight with Astrid,” Stoick began.

“Dad—”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Stoick said. “And you don’t have to. But I think you should ease up on yourself a little. Whatever happened, it can’t have been as bad as all this.”

“I really messed up, Dad.”

“Be that as it may.” Stoick stood up and patted Hiccup’s shoulder again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you as happy as you were when you and Astrid were… spending time together.” The pause was barely there, just long enough for Hiccup to notice. “And I think you should at least try to be a little kinder to yourself. Whatever you did, surely it doesn’t warrant putting yourself through—through all this.”

Hiccup could only stare. He didn’t think his dad had ever said anything like him before. “Less critical” wasn’t generally Stoick’s advice on… well, anything.

“Just… think about it,” Stoick said. “Goodnight, son.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

Things got better after that. Slowly, as they always did, but they got better. Hiccup slept more regularly, though he still worked a lot, if not as incessantly as before. Stoick came into his room after every time he had the dream, and they talked—not about Astrid or the dream, just about normal things. Mostly Hiccup told Stoick about work, and Stoick kept Hiccup up to speed with the team. 

From the bits and pieces he gathered, Astrid was doing much the same as he was, working more than anything else. He got curious one night and looked up a game analysis online. The writer described Astrid as playing like a “woman possessed,” and Hiccup was reminded of a similar comment Chris had made on his first day back in the office. 

He saw on her Instagram when Heather came to visit, and they spent several days together running around the city. They went to the brunch place Hiccup had taken Astrid to after their first night together, and though she didn’t say so, he didn’t think his assumptions about what had probably happened between them while Heather was here were that off-base. He tried to tell himself, mostly unsuccessfully, that he wasn’t jealous. 

But then, he figured he probably didn’t have a right to be.

The investigation about what had happened on the bridge was coming along. For a while, it had seemed that Drago was going to be able to deny involvement in the whole thing, but then Dagur had given the names of the people who’d had paintball guns. One of them—the one with the orange paint—had been Ryker Grimborn, Viggo’s brother. After that, it suddenly got a lot harder to deny the connection. Hiccup didn’t doubt that with his influence, Drago would get out of it. It was good to see him on the hook, though, at least for the moment.

Eventually, he started having the dream less and less, and he and his dad, having gotten in the habit of talking more, found themselves talking during the day too. They both found this a little strange, but Hiccup, at least, was glad of it.

But gods, how he missed her. Those dreams, at least, hadn’t stopped.

On the Friday before Labor Day, Hiccup realized he hadn’t had the dream in a week.

The next Tuesday, he was sitting at his desk in his room, working on a personal project, when a familiar voice cut through the music he was listening to on his headphones. He couldn’t make out what she said, but despite not having heard it in months, he’d know Astrid’s voice anywhere. 

He tore off his headphones and started toward his bedroom door, realizing belatedly that he wasn’t wearing pants. As he retrieved his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, he heard his dad say, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Miss Hofferson.”

Astrid’s voice—oh gods, her voice: “I get why you’d say that, but I really need to talk to him, please.”

As Hiccup pulled open his door and walked onto the landing, Stoick said, “Astrid, you know I value your contributions as a team. But as Hiccup’s father, I think it might be better—”

“No, I’ll talk to her, dad,” Hiccup said from the top of the stairs. He could only see the top half of her face, but his heart was pounding at the sight of even that.

Astrid met his eyes over his dad’s shoulder, and her face lit up for just a second before returning to the same worried determination she’d had before.

Stoick turned to look at him. “If you’re sure, son.”

Hiccup nodded, and Astrid took the opportunity to brush past Stoick and run up the steps.

“Let’s talk in my room,” Hiccup said, and when Astrid nodded, he led her inside. He turned from the door to see her surveying the space. He realized abruptly that, despite everything that had happened, she hadn’t ever been in his room before. That made his heart thud for some reason.

Part of him had a hard time believing she was here now.

He found himself grateful for the cleaning impulse he’d had that weekend; the room was actually presentable. The bed wasn’t made, but then the bed was never made.

“Oh, you play bass?” Astrid asked, pointing to the instrument case in one corner. 

“Not anymore,” Hiccup said. “I was in jazz band in high school.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Why don’t you take the desk chair?” Hiccup suggested, pulling it out for her. He realized his music was still playing over his headphones and paused it. As she sat down, he sat across from her on the bed.

“Hiccup, I just wanted to say—”

Hiccup held up a hand to stop her, pointing at the door. A second later, one of the stairs creaked as Stoick went back downstairs. “For such a big guy, he’s surprisingly light on his feet,” he remarked. “So what’s up?”

The interruption seemed to have thrown her. “I—I wanted to say…” she started, then stopped, not meeting his eyes.

“No rush,” Hiccup said, and she glared at him reflexively. “I mean that sincerely. Take your time.”

Astrid took a deep breath. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, the words rushing together.

“What?” Hiccup asked, more out of surprise than anything.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “After I found out about you and—and Rachel, I… I completely flipped out on you, and it wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry.”

Hiccup didn’t say anything. 

“I’m sorry for what I said. I leaped to conclusions and assumed the worst in you, and nothing I said was fair or right or—anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“What took you so long?”

She took a long breath. “Well, at first I thought you might come after me, and then I thought you’d get in touch. And then you didn’t, and I realized you weren’t going to, and I had to be the one to make things right. And it took me a while to work up the nerve to come here.”

“It’s weird to think of you having to work up the nerve to do anything.”

She lowered her eyes. “I know. But I—I wanted to say—” She stopped herself short again.

“Yeah?”

“My feelings haven’t changed,” she said. “Though if yours have, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Which ones?” he demanded. He didn’t quite know why he was being so harsh with her. She flinched, and he felt instant remorse. “I’m sorry. What else did you want to say?”

“I—the good ones,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She took a deep breath. “I wanted to say that I realized the main reason I was angry that you and—that you had—”

“It’s okay,” Hiccup said. “I don’t like thinking about it either.”

That made her smile a little. It was just a small curve of her lips, but it was there. Seeing it, Hiccup felt a flash of something in his heart, something soft and glittering that he hadn’t been sure was still there. But it was. All of it.

By the time she looked at him, he’d managed to get his face back to something like neutral.

“I realized that I wouldn’t have been nearly as angry if it was anyone but Rachel,” Astrid said. “Even someone else on the team—I mean, I might have been bothered by it, but not like—” She paused, and Hiccup remembered the way her eyes had blazed. “And it was a long time ago, before I met either of you, and before Rachel and I had beef. It would be a betrayal now, but it wasn’t then.”

“I mean, you did have a point,” Hiccup said. “It’s really not okay for me to have slept with one of my dad’s employees, let alone two.”

“Well, no, of course not,” Astrid admitted. “But if you were anything like the way you were with me when you were with—with her, I would find it hard to believe that she ever felt like she had to—you know. You never tried to leverage your position on me, and—”

“I don’t have a position,” Hiccup pointed out. 

“Exactly,” Astrid said, smiling again. “But you would have one if you wanted it. And I mean, except for when we first talked, I always made the first move. You never tried to make me do anything I didn’t want to.”

“It wasn’t quite that way with her,” Hiccup admitted. Her eyebrows drew together. “Can I explain?”

He read wariness in her eyes as she nodded. 

“I came back to the city after I graduated, and when I got home, it became clear that my dad wasn’t going to be supportive of me getting a job. I even tried a couple things with the team, and nothing seemed to make him happy. And then I met Rachel, and she was older, and pretty, and for some reason—maybe to rebel or something—I asked if she wanted to get dinner. She turned me down for dinner, but—” Astrid’s jaw clenched. “Things escalated. She didn’t want to be seen with me in public, which made sense since she was having a rough season and didn’t want to deal with the possibility of a scandal. That cafe where we had breakfast—it’s near her place, yeah, but we never went there together. She’d let me stay the night, but she always kicked me out in the morning. So I’d get breakfast there on my way back to the ALEX. It’s always been my place. Just mine. And I—I’ve never told anyone about it until now. She asked me not to. Well, except Chris, but I just said I’d had something with an older woman that ended badly. If anyone knows, it’s because she told them.”

“So you were like… her dirty secret or something?” Astrid asked.

Hiccup sighed through his nose. “I guess you could call it that.”

“And you were okay with that?”

He shrugged. “I had some self-esteem issues.”

“Had?” 

He smiled ruefully. “Trust me, I’m doing a lot better now. Though I did have a bit of a dip.”

The smile that had been playing across her face in response to his vanished. “Hiccup, I’m sorry.”

“It’s—it’s all right, Astrid,” he said, realizing as he did so that it _was_ all right. “I understand why you were angry.”

“It’s not just that,” she said. “My parents—I didn’t grow up well-off. When I was in high school, my parents both had to work two jobs to support me playing soccer, and if I hadn’t gotten my scholarship, I probably wouldn’t have gone to college. Since I was little, I’ve always known that if I was going to live the kind of life I wanted, I was going to have to be the best. Perfect. Special. And being with you, even just being your friend, made me feel really special. And when I found out, it…” 

“You didn’t feel special anymore.”

She nodded.

“Astrid, I’m not going to say that you were wrong to feel that way. But nothing could be further from the truth. Of course you’re special—you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met. There’s no-one like you, and there’s no-one who could replace you. I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I’ll try never to do it again.”

“I can’t promise I’m never going to get angry with you again,” Astrid said.

Hiccup chuckled. “And I wouldn’t ask you to. Asking Astrid Hofferson not to get angry is like asking the tide not to come in. It’s gonna happen.”

She smiled, blushing, and looked down. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, and as she met his eyes, he could see that this had been bothering her.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” she asked. “When I was—when I was coming at you.”

There was suddenly a strange pressure in his throat. Rubbing at it, he said, “I couldn’t.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He took a deep breath. “I—I wasn’t sure it was worth it.”

She arched her brows at him. “You weren’t sure I was worth it?”

“No, I—I wasn’t sure I was.”

Her face was stricken, and he could see in her eyes that she wanted to come to him. He wasn’t sure why she didn’t; maybe she didn’t trust herself to be in a bed with him. Gods knew he didn’t trust himself with her.

“Of course you’re worth it,” she said. 

They were quiet for a few seconds, just looking at each other. Then, just as Hiccup said, “Listen,” Astrid began, “Hiccup—”

They stopped again. “Sorry,” Hiccup said. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I really am. It’s my fault we haven’t seen each other in months. And I’ve missed you so much. I know we haven’t even known each other that long, but I really—I mean, I still—my feelings are still there.”

He knew what she wanted him to say. And it was true, too. But—

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, we can go down the list if you want. I can guarantee there are other people on there you don’t like, or that you wouldn’t like if you met them.”

“Hiccup.”

He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs. There was such hope in her face—hope, and uncertainty too. It was unlike Astrid; she was usually so sure about what she wanted, and so confident that she’d earned it. And he could see, too, that she wanted him, in the softness of her eyes and the way her lips parted slightly as she looked at him. She wanted him; she’d wanted him enough to come all the way out here to brave his father and face up to whatever Hiccup might say to her.

And he could feel all the same things surging up inside him—the hope, the uncertainty (because how could she really be sure?), the wanting, and that thing so far beyond simple wanting that he’d first become aware of on the beach, watching her laughing, bathed in golden light with her skirt clinging to her legs. He knew all of it was showing on his face, and he didn’t care, not now, not with her. 

“Of course I still feel the same way,” he said. His voice was so certain it almost didn’t sound like him.

It felt so incongruous for her to be sitting in his ratty desk chair with that smile of pure joy splitting her face.

Astrid stood and took the three steps between his desk and his bed. As she reached for his hands, he was already raising them to her, so that their hands met halfway. She clasped his hands in hers for a long moment. 

It was the first time he’d touched her in months. It seemed impossible, but he knew it was real from the stars that were racing up his hands from all the places where their palms were pressing together and their fingers were interlocking. Tears welled up in Astrid’s eyes. Hiccup could feel himself about to cry too and thought about swallowing it back, but decided against it. If Astrid had a problem with guys who cried, then he wasn’t the man for her, and it was better she knew that now.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” she said.

He nodded, and was still nodding when her mouth claimed his. Her hands were in his hair now, and he could taste the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her habitual post-practice juice and her, just _her_. Her weight settled onto his legs as she sat in his lap, facing him, and he felt his hands slipping around her waist to rest on the small of her back. 

Astrid pulled away for just a second, looking into his eyes as though checking he was real. Their breath mingled, and Hiccup pulled her back into him with a hand along the side of her face. She pressed against him, bearing him back onto the bed. Kneeling above him, she grinned and came down for another kiss. 

Her hands were crawling up his chest beneath the front of his shirt, and it was an effort to withdraw his own hands from her back and pull back enough to say, “Wait.”

“What? Why?” Astrid demanded.

“Because if we do anything here, my dad’s going to hear, and I don’t want that to be how he finds out.” He was, unfortunately, speaking from experience.

“But he will find out?” Astrid asked.

Hiccup nodded. “When we’re ready for him to.” He paused. “And this time, I’d like to move slow. Slower, anyway. Slow for us.”

“So when do you want to—”

“This Saturday, after the game?”

Astrid snorted. “You know, last time it took a week. Saturday’s four days from now.”

“I mean, we could push it back.”

“Not a chance.” And she kissed him again.

He didn’t intend to go to the game at first. He’d turned on the big TV in the living room and settled in to watch live, but actually being there would telegraph to Stoick and Gobber and everyone else paying attention that something had changed between him and Astrid. Again.

Hiccup wasn’t sure he was ready to go public like that.

He came back from the kitchen with a can of soda just as one of the commentators was saying, “And after a turbulent season, the Valkyries are all but guaranteed a spot in the top four. It must be said that a lot of the credit for that goes to Astrid Hofferson, the young midfielder in her first season fresh out of college.” An image of Astrid’s face, laughing as she high-fived Hannah Jensen and Jen Lopez, popped up on the screen.

Hiccup’s hand had frozen over the tab of the soda can. He let it fall, put the soda down on the coffee table, and turned off the TV. 

He had to get down there.

* * *

The crowd roars as Astrid jogs back onto the pitch in the midst of the Valkyries. She waves and smiles, giving herself a few seconds to indulge in the praise before she puts her game face back on. 

Her eyes go to the owner’s box almost by habit, even though he hasn’t been there in months. 

But he’s there now, just sitting down next to his dad as she looks up at him.

And he’s wearing her jersey. 

Her smile widens. When he sees her, he stands back up, waving to her and grinning from ear to ear. She waves back. Even from this distance, she can see the excitement in his eyes, the pleasure at being here, and that thing in his eyes she couldn’t place before, but which she recognizes now, even if he hasn’t said it. 

Though she doesn’t really spare Stoick a look, she sees him in her peripheral vision as his eyes go back and forth between her and his son. It would seem that even if he didn’t know before, he does now.

Rachel is glancing between them too as Astrid looks around at her and the rest of the team, and though something territorial grumbles in her chest, she just looks back at Hiccup. Her name is the one written across his shoulders.

It feels like half the stadium is looking at them. She knows that should make her nervous, but it doesn’t. 

Her heart is pounding, but not with nerves.

She flashes Hiccup another grin and runs to her position before Hannah can yell at her. 

As she finds her place, her game face slips into place and she stops thinking about Hiccup, on a conscious level at least. She can still feel him, though, warm and solid at her back.

A fire is burning in Astrid’s belly, competitive and determined, matched only by the one in Hannah’s eyes as her Captain holds her gaze from across the pitch. After a second, Astrid nods, and Hannah dips her chin. 

The other team’s attention seems to shift onto Astrid even as her eyes land on Rachel, who is in front of her on the field. It was only the Tuesday before last that Gobber told the team she’d be playing as a striker for the last few games of the season. Astrid didn’t know what to make of this decision at the time—it’s unusual to switch positions, especially this late in the season, and especially from defender to striker. 

But then, the other team doesn’t seem to know what to make of it either. And maybe that’s part of the point. 

Besides, she has to admit, if a bit grudgingly, that Rachel’s pretty good at it.

It doesn’t take long for their plan to go wrong. The other team has the ball first this half, and as Astrid darts forward aggressively, they seem to converge on her. This is supposed to give Hannah an opening to slip in and steal the ball, but something happens—she doesn’t quite see what—and the ball is in front of her instead. She gets control of it and starts dribbling down the field, but she’s practically surrounded. 

She manages to break away from the pack, but she knows she’s not going to make it to the goal. There are three midfielders and a striker between her and Hannah—that’s not happening. And the other forward is all the way across the field, trying to keep the throng around Astrid from getting any bigger. 

But Rachel—

Rachel is wide open.

Of course she is—the tension between them has been thick enough to cut with a knife. Even the other team has picked up on it. Nobody would expect Astrid to try to pass to Rachel. Rachel doesn’t even expect it. As Astrid meets her eyes, they widen in surprise. 

There’s no time to reconsider.

_Fuck it,_ Astrid thinks, and kicks the ball as hard as she can in Rachel’s direction.

* * *

The crowd erupted, and Hiccup leapt from his seat with the rest of them. 

But he wasn’t celebrating.

He was staring, transfixed, his hands over his mouth. The cheers died as the rest of the crowd noticed what he’d seen, the goal Rachel had just scored forgotten for the moment. 

His eyes were fixed on the place where Astrid was lying on the ground, her face tight with pain, clutching at her knee.

“Dad—”

“I know, son. Go.”

He turned and rushed out of the box, practically running through the back halls of the stadium so that he was out of breath by the time he got to the field.

“Sir, you can’t—” a security guard began, starting toward him.

“My dad sent me,” Hiccup said. It wasn’t technically a lie. “I’m—I’m her—” He paused, uncertain of what to say. What were they?

The man seemed to recognize him. He hesitated, and Hiccup took the opportunity to slip past him.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” a medic was saying as Hiccup ran up to where Astrid was still lying on her back.

“Astrid!” he said, panting.

She met his eyes, and despite the pain that was screwing up her face, her gaze was clear. “Are they honoring the goal?” she asked. Of course that was what she was worried about. 

He nodded—he’d heard the referee saying so as he passed him. “Law of advantage or something like that.”

She shut her eyes as the announcement made the crowd go nuts all over again. “Thank the gods.”

“We should get a stretcher out here,” a medic said. 

Astrid’s eyes snapped open. “No.”

“Miss Hofferson—”

Hiccup knelt beside her. “Do you want to walk off?” he asked. He knew, somewhere in the back of his head, how very public this was. It would be impossible to hide after this.

But he didn’t want to hide anymore.

Astrid nodded, swallowing convulsively.

“Okay,” he said. He looked at the medic. “Can you help me get her up? If she stumbles, we’ll go for the stretcher.”

After a second, the medic nodded, and a moment later, Astrid was balanced on her right foot, leaning heavily on Hiccup.

“Careful not to put any weight on that leg,” the medic said. 

Astrid nodded, and she and Hiccup began the process of hobbling across the field, her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go, but even so he heard her breath catch in pain more than once. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. The crowd sounded distant and hushed even as they roared with applause for Astrid. “We’re almost there.”

In the hallway that led past the locker rooms, a stretcher was waiting. Astrid sank onto it willingly enough, groaning.

Hilary James, her long bronze-colored hair tied back in a ponytail, came darting out of the Valkyrie’s locker room and handed Hiccup Astrid’s bag. “Here’s her stuff,” she said.

“Thanks, Hilary,” Hiccup said, and turned to follow the medics.

He didn’t know it then, of course, but photographers from several local news outlets had gotten photos of him and Astrid as he helped her off the pitch. The image—her arm obscuring her name across his shoulders as his arm cut across the large number 9 on her back, his face turned to reassure her—would become a seminal one for the Valkyries that season, and for future discussions on the early career of Astrid Hofferson.

Of course, he didn’t know that yet. All he knew, as he followed her out of the stadium, was that there was nowhere he would rather be. 

He awoke some hours later to Astrid saying, “Hiccup?”

He opened his eyes, and a wave of anxiety washed over him for a second as he realized where they were. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Hey.”

He was seated next to her bed in the Emergency Department, in a chair so remarkably uncomfortable that he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to fall asleep. Astrid was sitting up in bed, her bag next to her, pulling her top on over her head. He caught just a glimpse of the black bra beneath.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

He gave a startled laugh, looking at her incredulously. “I mean, nothing compared to you.”

“We got the scans back,” she said. “Nothing’s broken, but it looks like I tore my ACL. And possibly my meniscus.”

“That’s both of them, then,” he said.

She nodded. “I’m lucky I didn’t do the right one again. It’s harder to come back after a second tear on the same one.”

“How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “I mean, it hurts. Not as bad as last time, though. And they gave me a prescription for some pain meds.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Your car’s outside. I can drive you home.” He’d walked over and picked it up when she was getting scans done, then returned to an empty room. That must have been when he’d fallen asleep.

“Will you stay the night?” she asked. It was a request more than an invitation.

“If you want,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for us to—”

“I mean, the damage is done,” she said. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt my knee any worse than a slide tackle did.”

There was definitely truth to that.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“The nurse will be back in a minute with a knee brace and crutches for me,” she said. “Can you help me with my leggings?”

“Sure,” Hiccup said, standing up. As he helped her up from the bed, her hospital gown, which had been sitting over her lap, fell to the floor. Balancing on one foot, she leaned against the bed in just her underwear, and Hiccup grabbed the leggings from the top of her bag and knelt before her. 

As he bunched them up so he could slip them on one leg at a time, he felt her fingers ruffle through his hair. “You know, I like this view,” she said. 

He grinned up at her before taking her left foot in one hand and using the other to slowly, gently pull the leggings on over it. She sat on the bed while he did the right leg, then slipped off again as he pulled them up around her waist.

“Hey, Hiccup?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me off the field,” she said. “For getting my car. For coming here.” Her face was inches from his. “I know you don’t like hospitals.”

“I’m happy to be here for you.” His hands were still on her waist, he realized. “Can I—”

Astrid nodded, and he kissed her. Suddenly the relief struck him—she was okay, she was going to be okay—and he pulled her closer, overwhelmed by the the relief and the worry and the joy at being able to kiss her again.

She could feel it too, he saw as he pulled back. She looked almost thunderstruck.

“I’ll let you finish getting dressed,” he said. “I’m just going to go outside for a minute.”

Astrid nodded. “Good luck.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Thanks.”

He slipped through the curtain into the hallway, pulling it shut behind him, and walked out into the warm summer night, taking out his phone as he went. 

“Hey, Dad? Yeah, we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it; I’ve been waiting a long time to write this. 
> 
> As always, if you feel like leaving a comment, I would deeply appreciate it.
> 
> Thanks again!


	12. The Journey(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things begin to wrap up.

Astrid wakes up slowly.

She feels like she’s swimming through thick, soupy fog that drags at her hand and feet, and while she’s not a bad swimmer by any means—she’s a pretty strong swimmer, actually, and might have done well on the school swim team if she hadn’t been so single-minded about soccer—that doesn’t seem to translate here. The way the fog she’s swimming through now is both warm and cool at the same time makes her fold in on herself and never want to wake up.

But no, that’s wrong, she does want to wake up, she has to wake up, she _is waking up,_ and she feels her throat hum as she makes a noise. Someone takes her hand, lacing their fingers with hers, and the slight roughness of the palm against hers makes her realize she can feel her hands. She realizes whose palm it is, too, whose fingers.

“Astrid?” his voice says. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyelids tingle for a second, as though being activated, before she slowly blinks them open, looking up at the ceiling for a second before she rolls her entire head to meet his gaze. “Hi, babe,” she says, her voice creaky.

“Good morning,” Hiccup says, and though her vision is still swimming slightly, she can see him smile. She takes a long, slow blink, and when she opens her eyes again, he’s a little steadier.

“What time is it really?” she asks.

“About three in the afternoon,” Hiccup says. “They just brought you back out a little bit ago.”

“How’d it go?”

“It sounds like it went just fine, but we still need to talk to the doctor.”

“Did I already ask you that?” Astrid asks, feeling herself move another increment toward wakefulness.

As she focuses more, she can see that Hiccup’s a little stressed from being in a hospital, though he’s trying not to let it show. He smiles at her. “No, you’re good,” he says. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy, mostly.”

He nods. “You can shut your eyes again for a little bit, if you want.”

It’s a good idea, she thinks, and she’s just starting to do so when Hiccup stands, pulling his hand from hers. She opens her eyes to see that the surgeon has walked into her room. He’s the same surgeon who did her first knee surgery, seven years ago, and though he remembers her, he hasn’t commented on the fact that it’s her boyfriend with her now instead of her mom.

_Her boyfriend._ Astrid smiles to herself.

He starts going over how the surgery went, and what they need to do for aftercare, giving detailed instructions that Astrid can’t process right now. Her eyes are drawn to a nurse walking past the room, and she’s reminded, absurdly, of the time before her first surgery when, between when the anesthesia started kicking in and when it knocked her out, she started flirting with the nurses in the OR. It was what had finally forced her to admit she liked girls. 

Hiccup, who’s been glancing between Astrid and the doctor as he listens intently to the surgeon’s instructions, doesn’t miss it when Astrid’s gaze drifts to the door. Surely he can’t know exactly why, but he smiles at her before turning back to the doctor. 

“Can I ask a question?” Astrid asks, realizing too late that she’s cutting the surgeon off mid-sentence. 

“I—sure, of course,” he says.

“When can we have sex?”

Hiccup’s eyes open wide, and he turns away toward the window, his shoulders shaking silently.

“I think he’s afraid he’s going to break me,” Astrid goes on. “We only got back together a few days before the accident, and since then—”

“Astrid,” Hiccup says weakly.

“Well, for most activity, we usually say about four to six weeks”—Astrid wants to exclaim at that, but at her intake of breath, Hiccup turns around with a look that makes her think he might just leave her here if she does—“to get back to normal. The biggest thing is to listen to your body and stop when you feel any discomfort. Remember, there’s plenty of time to get back to your usual activity, but it’ll take a lot longer if you try to rush yourself. I understand you already have a physical therapist lined up?”

“Yeah, the team has several on staff,” Hiccup says. “We’ve got a session scheduled for next week.”

The surgeon nods. “Perfect.”

“And we’ll be taking our time on the drive back,” Hiccup goes on. “We’ll stay in town tonight, take the mountain passes tomorrow, and get home on Sunday. And my office already knows I’ll be working from home next week. Or from Astrid’s place, anyway.”

The doctor nods. “Sounds good. A nurse will be by in just a minute to give you more instructions and check to see you’re ready to get out out of here. You have my office number?”

Hiccup nods.

“Good. Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions or concerns.”

“Thank you,” Hiccup says. “We really appreciate your hard work.”

“Of course,” the surgeon says.

“Thank you,” Astrid says as the doctor heads for the door, and he raises a hand in farewell. 

“Want a hand getting dressed?” Hiccup asks, bending down to pick up her hospital bag. 

“Sure,” Astrid says, slowly leveraging herself into a sitting position one hand at a time, careful not to disturb the wad of gauze taped to one elbow, where they’d put the IV in. She reaches behind her for the tie of her hospital gown. It slips down off her shoulders onto her lap, and Hiccup’s cheeks go pink for just a second as he looks up from her bag, from which he’s just produced a wireless bra, to see her naked torso. 

“Here,” he says, and he hands the bra to her, then steps around behind her to do up the clasp as she pulls it on. His fingers are dextrous and light on her back. He takes out a loose shirt and slips it on over her head, then pulls out a pair of pajama pants that have to be his—all her pajama bottoms are shorts, when she even bothers to wear any. A nurse comes in as he’s slipping the baggy pants over Astrid’s feet and dives right in, helping him ease them on over the thick bandages covering the better part of Astrid’s left leg.

Astrid loses a little bit of awareness for the next part, as they get her into a wheelchair and roll her down to the front door of the hospital. Hiccup vanishes briefly to bring her car around, and then he and the nurses are helping her climb into the backseat, legs stretched out and a seatbelt across her waist. It’s the position she’ll be traveling in for the next two days. 

It feels like only seconds later that he’s half-carrying her into their hotel room, the same one as last night, though she knows it’s a twenty-minute drive from the hospital. 

“Hiccup,” she mumbles as he’s setting her down on the bed, having already made a brief stop in the bathroom so she could pee, though she’d had enough presence of mind to make Hiccup leave for that part. The cleaning staff has left the bed unmade, as per their request. 

He lifts her legs onto the bed before he says, “Yeah?”

“Thanks, babe,” she says, stopping herself just short of saying something quite different. _Probably not the time,_ she tells herself.

He kisses her forehead. “I’m gonna grab a shower,” he says. “You should try to get some rest. Just call for me if you need anything.” He slips a pillow under her foot.

“Okay,” she says, lying back on the pillows as he pulls the blankets up over her. It’s easy to do as he says; he leaves the bathroom door open, and the sound of the water lulls her into a deep, slow sleep.

* * *

Hiccup glanced in the rearview mirror at Astrid. She was asleep, her head leaning against the window and her mouth hanging open slightly. She’d still been too groggy this morning to braid her hair, so he’d done it for her. The result was hanging down over her shoulder, though it was already starting to come loose, only three hours in to that day’s drive.

He looked out the window at the town they were driving through. He’d planned to stop here for lunch, but he didn’t want to wake Astrid. And he was okay for a few more hours. A coffee would probably be a good idea before the passes, though, and he knew that there was a coffee shop near the next exit he wouldn’t be able to find another location for once they crossed the state line, only an hour or so away. He’d practically lived off their coffee during college study sessions, and now nostalgia was calling.

He changed lanes and got off the freeway. Behind him, Astrid stirred at the change in velocity, and as he pulled up to a red light, he glanced back to see her sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Are we stopping?”

“Just for a minute. I just wanted to get some coffee. We can get lunch if you want, though. Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” she said, leaning her head against the window again. “How’s the drive so far?”

“It’s been fine,” Hiccup said. “I’m glad you were able to get the surgery scheduled so quickly, though. I hate driving in the snow.”

Astrid snorted. “Then you picked the wrong state to go to college in.”

“I mean, I picked the school, not the state. And that school has a damn good engineering program.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard.” Hiccup could practically hear her eyes roll, though he was keeping his own eyes on the road. He smiled as he pulled into the drive-through lane for the coffee shop. He had to admit she had a point; the university definitely leaned pretty heavily on its reputation as an engineering school in its advertising.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Astrid asked a few minutes later, as they were getting back on the freeway. 

He glanced back at her. Her eyelids were starting to droop again, which didn’t surprise him—she’d stolen a sip of his iced glacier chai to take a pain pill, and it seemed to already be taking effect. 

“Nothing, probably,” he said. “My dad’s folks are all back in Scotland. My grandma—my mom’s mom—used to have us over, but she died a few years ago. She’s actually the one who—” Looking in the rearview, he saw that Astrid had fallen asleep again. 

Smiling fondly, he turned his gaze back to the road, took a sip of his drink, and turned his podcast back on.

They still had a long way to go.

* * *

“Astrid, you know I love you, but can you please slow down?” Hiccup exclaims behind her on the stairs. “You know I can’t go that fast on stairs, and if you fall, I need to be able to catch you.”

Reaching the top of the steps, Astrid turns on her crutches to stare at him, dumbfounded. He looks up at her from two steps down, and realization settles on his face.

“I said that first part out loud, didn’t I?” Hiccup says.

Astrid nods. 

She can see him starting to panic. “Astrid, I—”

“It’s okay,” she says, finding her voice again. She plants her crutches and leans down to kiss him. Her heart is pounding, but not with nerves—she’s absolutely certain about this. “I love you too.”

She can see the relief and joy and _love_ battling disbelief in his eyes as he says, “You—you do?”

Astrid nods, smiling herself as a slow grin spreads across Hiccup’s face. He climbs the last two steps and places one hand on her hip and the other on the back of her neck. He kisses her, gently teasing her lips apart with his own, and as she raises her arms to wrap them around his neck, her crutches slip out from beneath with a loud clatter. One of them hits her dresser and knocks off the piece of sea glass Hiccup gave her on the beach. 

Hiccup bends down to pick it up. “I still can’t believe you kept this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Astrid asks. “It was a gift from you. And I knew it wasn’t over between us. Or at least that I didn’t want it to be.”

He sets the piece of glass down on her dresser and wraps his arms back around her, a little more firmly now that her crutches aren’t in the way. His head bends down to hers, and her entire body throbs as he kisses her. She melts into his chest with a soft sound of pure wanting that he echoes. He kisses her until she’s pretty sure his hands around her waist are the only thing keeping her upright. 

His lips fall to the hollow beneath the corner of her jaw, then press a line of kisses down her throat that are soft and fiery all at once. He sucks on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and there’s a twinge of tiny, lovely pain that makes her gasp sharply. It’s echoed by a twinge in her knee.

“Hiccup, babe, wait,” she says, tensing up and pulling her hand up from where it’s been squeezing his ass through his jeans. “It’s only been a week,” she says as he pulls back to look at her. 

“I know,” he says. “We’ve still got three weeks. At the very least.”

“Then why—”

“Because you’re beautiful and I love kissing you?” He does so again, and she can’t help but smile against his lips. “And I love you.” He pulls her in for another kiss, a sweet one this time rather than the kind that usually leads to more, and after a few seconds, he asks, “Want me to go get my laptop? We can watch a movie before bed.”

She nods, though truth be told there are other things she’d rather be doing, all of which involve Hiccup in rather less clothing than he’s got on now. It’s apparent when he sets her down on the bed and turns back toward the stairs that he’s been thinking along the same lines. 

But as he goes downstairs, she relaxes, sighing with relief as she loosens the straps of her brace. She can’t take it off to sleep yet, but it still feels good after having it tight around her knee all day. She snuggles down under the covers and sticks a pillow under her foot to help her knee stay straight.

When Hiccup comes back up a moment later, laptop in hand, he follows her into bed, giving her a slow, lingering kiss before they settle into the covers, already debating over what to watch.

* * *

“Is everything all right, son?” Stoick asked, looking up in surprise as Hiccup shut the office door behind him. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine, “ Hiccup said, sitting down across the desk from his dad. “More than fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“All right,” Stoick said, a touch warily. “Well, what’s going on?”

“So, first of all, Astrid invited me—well, she invited both of us—to her parents’ house in Colorado for Thanksgiving. Are you interested?”

Stoick’s eyebrows rose. “Meeting the parents, eh? That’s a big step.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, running one hand through his hair. “So what do you think?”

“Well, how were you planning to get down there?” Stoick asked.

“We hadn’t decided yet. Flying’s obviously quicker, but it would be hard to get tickets since it’s so soon, and we wouldn’t be able to take some of the stuff Astrid needs for physical therapy. But I don’t like driving in snow, and we’d probably have to take at least two days to drive each way.”

“Well, I could drive,” Stoick said.

“Oh. Okay, yeah.”

“So it’s getting pretty serious then?”

Hiccup nodded. “And I realized we hadn’t talked about it. I mean, we’ve talked, but we haven’t had an official conversation about the whole thing.”

Stoick nodded. “Right.” He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a file folder, which Hiccup eyed apprehensively. He set it down on the desk and steepled his fingers over it. “I spoke to Amanda”—the team’s head attorney—“and she said that since you aren’t officially affiliated with the team, we don’t need to do anything to… un-affiliate you, as we would have had to do if you’d chosen your relationship with Astrid over your position with the team. But since you don’t officially have a position, that’s not an issue. But there is a section in the teams bylaws that states that anyone currently… involved with anyone playing either for the Valkyries or a team the Valkyries play against may not hold any position with decision-making power. So as long as you and Astrid are together, and she’s playing professional soccer, you won’t be able to hold a position with the Valkyries. Any position.”

Hiccup nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”

“That does lead us to another question,” Stoick said. “What will you do if—when, most likely—Astrid gets a better deal from another team and decides to take it?”

Hiccup shrugged. He and Astrid hadn’t really discussed the possibility, but the answer came easily to him. “I mean, I’d probably go with her.”

“You’d move across the country for this girl?” Stoick asked. 

Hiccup gave a shrug-nod. “Well, you’ve already renewed her contract for the next two seasons, which means that by the time it comes up, we’ll have been dating for years. Assuming we’re still together by then, which I am, it’s a reasonable step.”

“So you’re sure about her?”

“More sure than I’ve been about anything in my entire life.”

Stoick smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m happy for you, son. I really am.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Hiccup said, grinning.

“But what I want to know is, what happens when she plays against the Valkyries? Because she’ll have to. And who will you root for when she does?”

Hiccup’s grin widened. “Dad, I think you already know the answer to that.”

Stoick’s smile vanished. “How quickly you betray me.”

Hiccup couldn’t help but snort with laughter, and after a second Stoick started chuckling too. 

“But what are the papers for?” Hiccup asked.

“They’re my notes,” Stoick said, the laugh still in his voice. “In case I forgot anything I needed to say.”

“So is there anything else?” Hiccup asked. “Or are we good?”

“Well, there is one thing.” Stoick looked down. “Hiccup, for a long time, I’ve thought that, when I retired, you would take over from me as owner of the team. It’s why I tried to get you involved the way I did. And when you were younger, you said you wanted to.”

Hiccup nodded. 

“Is that still what you want? Because now it could be a little more complicated.”

Hiccup considered that for a second. “Maybe,” he said. “I think so. Eventually. Can we make a compromise?”

“What kind of compromise?” Stoick asked.

“Well, the average age for a professional woman soccer player to retire is thirty-five, right?” Hiccup said, and Stoick nodded. “Well, Astrid’s twenty-three now. That means we have twelve years until she retires. Can you hold out that long?”

Stoick seemed slightly taken aback. “Twelve years, you say?”

Hiccup nodded. 

“I’ll be sixty-five then,” his dad said musingly. “Which is when plenty of people retire, I suppose.”

“And we can talk about it before then if things change,” Hiccup said. “If Astrid decides to retire or something.”

Slowly, Stoick nodded. “That does sound fair. Twelve years, then.” He reached out his hand, and Hiccup clasped it in his own.

“It’s a deal.”

It was late in the afternoon when they pulled up to the house. Hiccup climbed out of the passenger seat of Astrid’s car somewhere in the middle of a small mountain town. Astrid had sat in the back as he navigated for his dad, and now, as he opened the door, she smiled and got out, gently flexing her leg. 

“Thanks, babe.”

“This the place, lass?” Stoick called from the other side of the car. 

“Yep, this is it,” Astrid called back. Quieter, she said, “This is home.”

The house was small, though well-kept, with lights already hanging along the line of the roof and the frames of the windows. The front yard was buried in a foot of snow, though someone must have shoveled the sidewalk and driveway not too long before they got there.

“It’s nice,” Hiccup said, taking Astrid’s hand. And he meant it; he could imagine Astrid living here, could see the happy, laughing, hot-headed golden child she must have been running down the sidewalk, her soccer bag thrown over her shoulder. 

Astrid squeezed his hand, and they went to get the bags from the back of the car. 

By the time they reached the front door, it was already opening, revealing a tall blonde woman with her hair cut to just above her shoulders and a man, several inches shorter than the woman, who wore glasses and was just starting to go bald. 

“Astrid!” the woman exclaimed, rushing forward to throw her arms around her daughter. 

“Hi, Mom,” Astrid said, laughing and returning her mother’s warm embrace. 

“You look so wonderful!” her mom said, holding her at arm’s length for a second before pulling her back in. She was within an inch of Astrid’s height, Hiccup noticed. “How’s your knee? How was the drive? Oh, it’s just so good to have you home.”

“Hey, I’m Mark,” the man said, reaching out to Hiccup, and Hiccup set down Astrid’s bag so he could shake hands. 

“Hiccup,” Hiccup said. “And this is my dad, Stoick.”

“Welcome. Nice to meet you both,” Mark said, shaking hands with Stoick. 

“Thanks so much for having us,” Stoick said. “You’ve got a lovely home.”

“Oh, well, you know, it’s been a while since we had anyone over for Thanksgiving,” Mark said, quiet pride on his face. “Come on in. Helga will join us just as soon as she’s finished making sure Astrid’s really here.”

“Oh, Mark,” Astrid’s mother—Helga—said, finally releasing Astrid. “You must be Hiccup,” she said, turning to him, and he lifted his hand in anticipation of the handshake, only to have it get sandwiched between them as she went for the hug.

“Oh! Hi,” he said, patting her on the back with his free hand.

“Oh, sorry, I’m a hugger,” Helga said, pulling away.

“Oh, no, that’s fine, I’m just awkward,” Hiccup said, and Helga laughed.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mark said, pulling Astrid into his side in a one-armed hug. “Good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be back, Dad,” Astrid said, smiling, meeting first her dad’s eyes and then Hiccup’s. 

Stoick and Helga shook hands; it would seem that even her hugging instincts were no match for the giant mountain of a man that was Stoick. 

“Let’s get inside,” Helga said. “Looks like it’s going to start snowing again.”

She was right; by the time Hiccup got back to the living room from dropping off their bags in Astrid’s childhood bedroom, fat, lazy flakes were falling onto the yard and sidewalk outside. 

Astrid was on the couch, looking a bit overwhelmed as her mother pressed a mug of something into her hands and propped her leg up on an ottoman. Helga, in turn, kept glancing toward Stoick while never quite looking at him directly. Hiccup read tension there—awareness that she was hosting not just her daughter’s boyfriend and his dad, but also Astrid’s boss. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for her to realize she didn’t have to worry about either him or Stoick judging her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep out here?” Hiccup asked, trying to defuse the tension or at least draw Helga’s attention. “I’m happy to if it would make you more comfortable.”

Helga twisted around to look at him, and Astrid shot him a mutinous look over her mother’s shoulder. “No, of course not,” Helga said, meeting Hiccup’s gaze with eyes the same shade of blue as her daughter’s. “I’ve always thought that kind of thing was just so medieval.”

“Hiccup, Astrid tells me you like to cook,” Mark said.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Hiccup said. “More than she does, anyway.”

Astrid stuck her tongue out at him, and the parents all laughed.

“No pressure, but do you want to make something for dinner on Thursday?”

“Oh, yeah, I could definitely do that,” Hiccup said, more than a little surprised. “What do you guys still need?”

“Well, we’re a little short on vegetables,” Helga said, almost apologetically.

Hiccup chuckled. “I mean, it’s Thanksgiving. I’d be surprised if you weren’t. I do have a mean green bean casserole recipe my grandma taught me. Lighter end of casserole,” he said reassuringly.

“Sounds good to me,” Helga said. “Would that be your mother, Stoick?”

“No, my mom’s mom,” Hiccup said.

“Mom, I told you—” Astrid started.

“Oh, that’s right,” Helga said, flushing. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s all right,” Hiccup said, smiling at her. After a moment, she smiled back.

“Why don’t you and I go to the store?” Mark suggested. “There’s a few things I need to pick up too.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Hiccup said, trying to conceal his nervousness. “Let me just grab my coat.” He went back into Astrid’s room and picked it up from where he’d tossed it on the bed. He hadn’t stopped to take off his shoes on the way in, but seeing Helga’s eyes flick toward his feet as he got back to the living room, he made a mental note to do so when he and Mark got back.

“Thought your dad might have an easier time getting Helga to feel at ease if you and I weren’t there,” Mark said when they were outside, punching in the code to open the garage door. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only person my dad’s ever had trouble talking to,” Hiccup said ruefully. Mark grinned. “This have all wheel drive?” he asked, getting into the passenger side of the sedan sitting inside the garage.

“I never buy anything that doesn’t,” Mark said, starting the car. “I do enough driving in the mountains for work that it really is a necessity. You like cars?” he asked, pulling onto the quiet street. 

“Motorcycles, mostly. I have one at home that I’ve modded pretty extensively.”

Mark glanced at him. “That what you do for work?”

“No, I’m an engineer,” Hiccup said. “But I like working with my hands when I can.” Too late, he realized the possible implications of that statement, but Mark didn’t seem to take it the way Hiccup feared. “So is this the part where you interrogate me about my intentions with your daughter and threaten to respond in kind if I hurt her?”

“Now why the fuck would I do something like that?” Mark asked, and as Hiccup turned to look at him, surprised, he saw a smile on Mark’s face that he knew all too well, and that looked out of place on Mark’s previously unassuming features. He’d assumed Astrid had gotten it from Helga, as she seemed to have gotten most things, but though Mark’s remaining hair was mouse-brown and his eyes an icier shade of blue than Astrid’s, the grin was identical. It was somehow more easy-going, though, conspiratorial rather than goading. “You and I both know she can take care of herself. She gets that from her mom. And besides, you’re going to hurt her, just like she’s going to hurt you. But that’s how things work. And you don’t seem like the type to do so maliciously or carelessly.”

Suddenly uneasy, Hiccup started to ask, “How much do you know—”

“As much as Astrid thought I needed to know,” Mark said. “I trust her judgment.” Pulling into a parking lot, he fixed Hiccup with an even look and said, “We’ve still got another stop before we go home.” He found a spot and turned the car off. “Let’s move quickly.”

By the time they got back, Helga and Stoick were laughing merrily, chatting over a mostly-empty bottle of wine that had almost certainly been meant for Thanksgiving. With a wink to Hiccup, Mark pulled an identical bottle from his grocery bag and stuck it in the fridge. 

Smiling, Hiccup knelt and took off his shoes, then carried his own bag of groceries to the kitchen, kissing Astrid on the cheek on the way over. He set the bag down on the counter, next to the bag of takeout they’d made the second stop for.

As Hiccup walked onto the tile floor of the kitchen, Mark glanced down, apparently registering that one of Hiccup’s feet sounded different on the hard floor. Hiccup paused, nervous again. Apparently Astrid hadn’t told her dad _that._

After a moment, though, Mark just nodded. “Motorcycle modifications.”

Relieved, Hiccup nodded. “Yeah. Had to move the gearshift.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Mark said, smiling. “Pass me those beans?”

Later, after they’d eaten and chatted for hours, long enough for both Stoick and Helga to sober up a little, Hiccup let himself back into Astrid’s room, already in his pajamas. The room was plain, somehow even more spartan than Astrid’s current apartment. The only real decorations were a shelf full of soccer trophies and several large posters of soccer players who’d been in the peaks of their careers anywhere from five to fifteen years ago. His eyes fell on Astrid, already snuggled up in bed in an oversized t-shirt—one of _his_ t-shirts, specifically—and he grinned as she smiled invitingly at him. He climbed in nest to her, kissing her softly for a minute on hands and knees as she looped her arms around his neck.

“How’d it go with Dad?” she asked.

“Fine, I think,” he said, joining her under the covers.

“He definitely likes you,” Astrid said.

“You think?”

She nodded. “Mom too. Did you see the way she smiled when you took off your shoes without even being asked?”

Hiccup chuckled. “Can’t say I did.” Whatever else he was going to say, it was stifled as Astrid leaned over him and kissed him, planting her right knee and swinging her left leg over him to straddle his hips. The bedsprings squealed, stiff with disuse.

“Hey,” she said, grinning down at him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, unable to keep from smiling.

“Kissing you,” she said, leaning down to do so. She kept most of her weight on her right knee, only really using the left one to stabilize herself. 

The bedsprings groaned again, and Hiccup heard an answering shift of furniture from the other side of the wall, where Stoick was staying in the guest room. It would seem the walls were fairly thin.

Hiccup broke away from the kiss, twisting his head to look at the wall anxiously.

“Want me to get off you?” Astrid asked, and his eyes went back to hers. She was smirking at him.

He’d never wanted anything less in his entire life. She knew that as well as he did; her smirk widened as his clothed erection pressed against her barely-clothed ass.

He sighed. “Probably should,” he said regretfully. “Don’t want to hurt your knee.”

She rolled her eyes, but she also rolled off of him back onto the bed. The springs gave their loudest groan yet. 

Hiccup kissed her softly, burying his hands in her hair as he leaned over her now, ignoring the bed’s smaller squeals. “I love you,” he murmured, pulling back to look at her face. 

She smiled. “I love you too,” she said. She glanced down at him. “To be continued?”

He chuckled. “Definitely. When we get home.” He got back to his feet. “For now, though, if you’ll pardon me, milady, I need to go use the bathroom. Again.”

Astrid grinned at him.

* * *

Hiccup’s mouth is hot against her skin as he kisses along her neck, his warm breath sending thrills all through her. His hands are gripping her hips, pulling her against him, and she can feel how hard he is. As she gently rakes her nails down his back, he moans in her ear, and she feels her knees go weak as desire pools between her legs. She takes another step backward toward her bed, pulling Hiccup with her and tangling her fingers in his hair so she can drag his mouth up to kiss him.

Then the back of her knee hits the mattress, and Astrid freezes.

It’s just for a second. A breath later, she’s pulling him down onto the bed on top of her. 

But he’s noticed. He pushes himself up on his hands so he can look at her. “Astrid?” he asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice tight. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

She reaches for him, but he’s already sitting back on his knees. 

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” she says, and it’s true, she doesn’t, especially with the way his chest is still heaving and the tent he’s pitching in his underwear, which besides his prosthetic liner is all he’s wearing. But there’s a tightness in her chest and a lump in her throat, and she knows she sounds as panicked as she feels. She wants to keep going, but part of her also wants to curl up into a little ball.

“It’s okay,” Hiccup says, still panting a little. “What’s going on?”

“I—I bumped my knee,” Astrid says. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I just freaked out a little. But I’m okay.” She’s looking at his chest rather than his face.

Hiccup nods. “Okay.” He lies down next to her, kissing her softly on the lips. “I’ve had exactly the same thing happen,” he says. 

“Really?” she asks, meeting his eyes. 

He nods. “Yeah, really.” He kisses her again. “Here, lie still for me.”

He starts at her face, and she shuts her eyes as he traces his fingertips over her features before moving down over her neck and shoulders. He’s moving to soothe rather than titillate, with long smooth motions that warm her skin. Astrid starts to relax, feeling the knot in her chest begin to dissipate. He lets his hand sit in the center of her chest for a minute, warm and heavy, and she’s aware of her heart starting to slow down. 

“Is this what your partner did?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“When you freaked out.” 

He chuckles. “No, I’m pretty sure she just blew me,” he says ruefully. “Which, admittedly, did work. But I don’t want to rush you.”

Then he runs both hands along her arms from shoulder to fingertip. He passes his hand over her stomach, the tank top she’s still wearing pulling against her breasts beneath the light pressure of his palm. He doesn’t touch her breasts themselves, or any part that he knows is specifically an erogenous zone for her, but all the same, she feels the desire beginning to build up inside her once again. 

Eyes closed, she can’t see him, but she sheets rustle as he slips off the bed, keeping a gentle hand on her thigh so she knows where he is. She imagines him kneeling on the floor between her legs, cheeks flushed and eyes alight. 

His hands go first to her right leg, gently rubbing and kneading the muscles of her thigh and calf, the tendons behind her knee, until she feels like the limb has turned into putty.

“Wow, you’re good with your hands, babe,” she says.

Hiccup chuckles, and the sounds stirs something inside her. “Thanks.” He moves his hands to her left leg. “Tell me if anything hurts, even a little bit, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Astrid breathes. 

He slowly bends and straightens her knee as he’s seen her do for physical therapy, holding it straight for a few seconds at a time. A small sound escapes her lips at the feeling of the joint working. 

“Good?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

He starts working the muscles in that leg with his fingers, avoiding the newly-healed scars peppered around the front of her knee and the inside of her shin. She’s glad for that; they’re still unpleasantly sensitive to the touch, as is the skin around them.

After several minutes of quiet as he massages her knee, he gently sets her leg down, and Astrid feels like it’s melting into the bed.

“So I know how you got these,” he says, brushing the surgery scars on her right knee and not quite touching the ones on her left, “and this one,” and he brushes his hand up along the scar that stretches along the outside of her right leg. Astrid barely keeps from whimpering at his gentle touch on the sensitive tissue. He pulls up her tank top and traces to the top of her scar, a few inches below the band of her bra. “But what happened here?” he asks, placing a fingertip on the skin of her right breast where there’s a small scar just visible above the gray cotton of her bra cup.

Astrid giggles. “I got bitten by a horse.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Claire used to live down the road from a pasture where there were always a few. We’d walk over whenever we needed a study break.” The scar doesn’t look like a bite mark; the horse only broke her skin in one spot, though she’d had a bruise on her chest for weeks.

She feels his mouth warm on her breast then, and she opens her eyes to see him pulling away from where he’s just kissed her. 

“What about you?” she asks, reaching up to brush her thumb across a thin scar on his chin. “What happened here?”

He shuts his eyes at her touch. “Car accident,” he says. “When I was really little.” He takes her hand and kisses the side of her index finger. “Here?”

“Archery,” she says, and he nods sagely. “In the off season.”

He lets go of her and and sinks backward. “What about this one?” he asks, and now she does whimper as he kisses the inside of her left thigh.

“High school graduation party,” she says, her voice a touch breathy. “I had a couple hard lemonades and decided to climb a tree.”

He laughs softly, and the warmth of his breath sends goosebumps running all along her legs. Astrid swallows, realizing as she does that the lump in her throat is gone. “Your stories are so much more interesting than mine,” he says. “I just tripped and fell down a volcano.”

“Just?” She feels like her whole body is quivering.

“Mmm.” Hiccup is quiet for a second, though she can still feel the warmth of his face next to her leg. Then he asks, in the same soft tone he’s been using, “Can I take off your underwear?”

Astrid nods, then realizes he can’t see it from his current position. “Uh-huh.”

His fingers curl around the elastic waistband, and the brush of the slightly-callused pads of his fingertips against the skin of her lower abdomen draws a small noise from her throat. As he pulls the undies down off her legs, she sits up on her elbows to divest herself of tank top and bra. Looking down at where he’s kneeling between her legs, just as she imagined, she grins.

“What?” he asks.

“I told you,” she says. “I like this view.” And she reaches down a hand to ruffle his hair.

He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Do you?” he asks, and the rush of warm air makes Astrid keen slightly. She feels him smirk as he kisses her again, farther up her leg, and she can feel his hair brushing against her other leg now too. “I do too,” he whispers against her. He turns his head, and she feels like she’s about to burst in anticipation. But he keeps turning his head, going to kiss her other thigh until she reaches down and laces her fingers into his hair.

“Stop fucking teasing me,” she says, her voice rough.

“Very well, milady.” With no more warning than that, his mouth is on her.

Astrid grits her teeth against the cry that tears its way out of her throat as her head topples back to land on the bed with a muffled thud.

Hiccup echoes her, groaning deep in his throat at the taste of her as he swipes his tongue along the length of her slit.

She’s already shaking when he focuses his attentions on her clit, tracing random shapes with his tongue and then circling her. She feels his breath on her as he lets out tiny, huffing little moans, using one hand to hold her hips when she grinds against him, seeking more.

And he gives her more. He slips his long, thin artist’s fingers inside her and crooks them as he starts to stroke her, keeping pace with his tongue. Keyed up as she already is, it seems to only take a few thrusts before she’s spasming, squeezing down on his fingers with a moan that feels like it’s coming from the depths of her being. “Hiccup,” she pants out.

She hears him climb onto the bed, and when she opens her eyes to look at him, he’s sucking his fingers clean. She sucks in a deep breath at the sight, and he grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans down to kiss her. At some point, he’s taken off his own underwear too; she can feel the tip of his cock dragging along her thigh, already slightly slick with leaking precum.

As he kisses her, Astrid reaches down and takes him in her hand, skimming her thumb over very lightly over the swollen head. It makes him moan against her mouth, sending waves of heat through her, and the tensing of his thighs as he bucks into her hand drives her own thighs farther apart. He kisses her one more time before pulling back. 

“You ready?” he whispers, and she knows he’s asking on more than one level. This is the first time since her surgery that they’ve done more than kiss. 

She nods, smiling. “Yeah.” 

Hiccup smiles, kissing her again. “Condom?” he asks when they come up for air. After their slightly reckless first weekend together, they’d both made sure to get condoms when they got back together, which means that now the drawer of Astrid’s bedside table contains several boxes’ worth. They used them too, between when they got back together and when Hiccup was able to get into a doctor’s office for testing—Astrid had done hers as part of working up the courage to go after Hiccup.

Now, though, Astrid shakes her head. “We both got the all-clear, remember? I’m good if you are.”

“I’m definitely good,” Hiccup says, covering her face and neck with kisses. “Gods, Astrid,” he murmurs against her neck.

“What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, kissing down from her jawline to her clavicle and then returning to her mouth. “And I’m pretty sure I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Astrid opens her mouth with a snappy comeback, but then Hiccup is lifting first one of her legs and then the other onto his shoulders, and guiding his shaft with one hand as he gives her one last searching look, cheeks flushed and desire plain in his eyes, and whatever she was going to say slips quite out of her mind.

She nods, and Hiccup shuts his eyes, slipping into her, filling her, his hands warm and just slightly rough on her thighs. He holds still for a moment once his hips have come flush with her ass, to let her adjust, though she thinks this may be for him as much as her; his eyes stay shut for a second, and it’s only once he takes a deep breath and lets it out, cock twitching inside her, that he looks at her.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, and he obliges her, taking several slow thrusts before he pulls out almost completely and then plunges back into her, making her gasp aloud and grope for something to hold onto, ending up fisting her hands in the sheets. He doesn’t pound her—he’s never been one to just pound away—but this position lets him fuck her _deep_, and she can watch him in a way she’s not usually able to, can see his stomach muscles flexing from between her thighs as he thrusts and gives a gutteral moan that Astrid feels as much as hears.

“Astrid,” he says. “Oh gods, Astrid.”

“Oh, shit, yes, Hiccup. You feel so good.” She can feel her climax starting to build again, and lets go of the sheets with one hand to reach down and start rubbing at her clit. 

Hiccup watches her do this, a look almost of awe on his face as her fingers work in conjunction with his cock to get her off. Her breath quickens, and his eyes go back to hers, the light in them saying he can feel her orgasm coming too. 

And then he slows, and finally stops, smiling ruefully at her whine of protest. 

“Sorry,” he says. “But I’m close too, and I don't wanna come too quick. I knew I couldn’t hold out if you came.” He pauses for breath. “Turn over for me?”

“Hands and knees?” she asks, confused—that definitely doesn’t fit in with not putting stress on her knee. 

Hiccup shakes his head. “No, just on your stomach.” He pulls out to let her do it. “Gods, I’d almost forgotten how incredible your ass is,” he says, and leans down to press his lips against said ass.

“Well, as long as it’s only ‘almost’.” Astrid shoots him a cheeky grin over her shoulder. 

He returns the grin, and then his hands are wrapping around her hips and _hoisting_ her onto his thighs, shifting her so her weight is balanced between her elbows and his grasp as he kneels behind her. He guides himself into her again, his hand returning to his her hip as he begins to thrust. 

He can’t go quite as deep in this position, but the way his cock is hitting her is just _exquisite._ Astrid crumples forward, burying her face in the mattress to muffle her moans. 

She feels his fingers in her hair, tugging gently—the hair tie has come free at some point, and her braid is starting to unweave itself. “Don’t,” he says, voice hoarse. “I want to hear you.”

She grins at him over her shoulder again, and then lets herself sink back into bliss.

Astrid wakes up just as the sun is starting to come up, flooding the apartment with pink light. Hiccup’s arm is thrown loosely over her waist, and as she turns over so that she can look at him, he rolls onto his back, still asleep.

He’s so beautiful. His face is relaxed now in a way it never is when he’s awake, always working through one problem or another. His brow furrows for a second, and then softens; clearly, whatever issue came up in his dream has been resolved, she thinks, smiling to herself. 

His hair looks like autumn leaves with the way the sunlight is hitting it now, brown with patches of red and even a little orange here and there. Her eyes drift downward. The hair on his chest and stomach is redder than that on his head, patches around and between his nipples and a thicker trail that starts just below his belly button and leads down to where he’s still covered by the sheet. The edge of his ribcage is just visible as his stomach rises and falls with sleep. He’s freckly all over, she’s found, though of course they’re more prominent in the places where he gets the most sun—just his face and arms, mostly, and just his face in the winter.

She loves his freckles.

She loves his hair, she thinks, ruffling it lightly. 

She loves him. 

Astrid watches Hiccup sleep for another minute or so before she remembers why her body woke her up. She eases her way out of bed and heads downstairs to the bathroom, walking slowly and putting both feet on each step before moving to the next.

When she comes back up, carrying a full water bottle, Hiccup is sitting up in bed, awake but disgruntled. His eyes light up when he sees her, though, and he takes the bottle from her appreciatively as she sits down next to him. 

“Thank you, milady,” he says, taking several long draughts and going to hand it back to her.

“No, that’s yours,” Astrid says. “I had one downstairs.”

He smiles gratefully and keeps gulping down water. He’s always thirsty in the morning.

He doesn’t notice she’s staring at him until he sets the bottle down on the nightstand. “What?” he asks, smiling.

“I was just—I—I love you.”

Hiccup stares at her for a second, incredulous and overjoyed in equal measures before a dopey, thunderstruck grin spreads across his face. It’s the first time she’s said it first.

“I love you too,” he says. He takes her face in his hands and kisses her, and though there’s some morning breath there, it’s been mitigated enough by the water that she doesn’t really mind. 

“I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” Hiccup says. “Then do you want to go get some breakfast?”

“Definitely,” Astrid says. “The diner or the mom-osa place?”

He chuckles. “I was thinking the diner.”

She nods, smiling. “Sounds good.”

As they’ve been talking, he’s been slipping his prosthetic on. “Thanks again for getting this for me last night,” he says. 

Astrid blushes—it had fallen halfway down the stairs when she’d gotten a little overzealous taking Hiccup’s pants off. “Sure thing.”

Standing up, he bends down to kiss her cheek. I’ll be right back,” he says, then sets off down the stairs. 

Watching him go, and taking the opportunity to check out his ass, Astrid realizes something.

Leaving her parents’ house with Hiccup, coming back to this city that he knows so well and that she’s learning to love—it felt like coming home, more so than her parents’ house has in years, and certainly far more than their college town ever did. 

And that feeling—that awareness—creates a new certainty in Astrid.

She is home. 

Now she just has to figure out how to tell Hiccup that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it; it’s definitely been good to get back to this. 
> 
> That said, we are very nearly at the end; there’s just an epilogue left, which will be coming out next week. I have a lot more planned that I’m excited to get to, but for the moment at least, this story is just about done.


	13. The Lease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... AKA The Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of warning, I did things a bit differently than I usually do in the epilogue. Hope you like it!

“Hey babe?”

The call came from the sofa, where Astrid was working on her laptop while Hiccup finished getting dinner ready. He turned his head to look at her, but he could see nothing of her but her bare feet, propped up on the coffee table with her ankles crossed.

“Yeah?”

“If you get to a point where dinner can take care of itself for a minute, could you come here? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Hiccup considered the pan in front of him, full of chicken and vegetables and sauce which was simmering away merrily, and then checked the rice. “Actually, I think it’s just about done,” he said. He’d been working on learning the recipe for Astrid’s favorite mushroom chicken from the Chinese restaurant they frequented, in the hopes that he’d be able to make it for her if and when they moved out of the city—though of course he hadn’t told her that.

Not yet, anyway.

He thought he’d just about gotten it this time, though he had made a couple small alterations.

“Oh, fantastic!” Astrid said, and he heard the laptop snap shut as she jumped to her feet. She came into the kitchen, her hair in its usual braid and wearing her customary home outfit of t-shirt and leggings. She walked with only the faintest trace of a limp, though the team’s physical therapists had already decided she wouldn’t be ready to play for the first couple games of the season. He knew she found it frustrating, but she seemed to be taking it fairly well.

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder before perching her chin atop it. “This looks amazing, babe,” she said. “I’ll get the plates.”

A minute later, they were sitting not on the sofa, where they usually ate, but on the stools by the breakfast bar. Astrid dug in happily, but a moment later was reaching for her water glass. “Oh wow,” she said. “You used more chili than they do.”

“Yeah, is that okay?” Hiccup asked. “I noticed when we got Mexican food with your parents that you liked things spicier than you can get at a lot of places here.”

“Yeah, it’s delicious,” Astrid said, laughing. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” She leaned over and kissed him. He could taste the spice on her lips.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, turning back to his plate.

“Oh. Um, well—” She took a bite of chicken and chewed it slowly, giving herself time to think. “I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?” Hiccup asked. Part of him was apprehensive, as he suspected he always would be, at least a little bit, when the phrase “I’ve been thinking” crossed Astrid’s lips. But this didn’t sound like a bad thing—as far as he could tell, she wasn’t upset, and he didn’t think he’d done anything to piss her off—and so part of him was amused, too, at his girlfriend’s uncharacteristic show of nerves.

“Well, the thing is, my lease for this place is running out at the end of next month, and I’ve been thinking about moving.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Astrid said, keeping her eyes on her food. “It’s not that I don’t like this place—I actually really like this place—but I was also thinking it might be time to move on. What do you think?”

Hiccup considered. “That depends. What are your criteria for a potential new place?”

“Well, probably something a little bigger, and I definitely need to have a dishwasher and washing machine in-unit, and…” She took several bites in rapid succession, then said, standing up with her mouth still half-full, “Actually, let me just show you.”

A moment later, she came back, laptop in hand, and set it up on the counter between them. “I know you like high ceilings and lots of light,” she said, opening a tab on her browser. “Which is good because I do too. And these are all in pretty tall buildings since I know you like being high up. And I definitely want to stay on the west side of the river; you know me, I need hills. I really like this one,” she said, opening up an apartment listing that was admittedly very pretty, with hardwood floors and big windows that let in a lot of natural light, “but it’s not in a tower like the others, and—” She stopped short as she saw him, staring at the laptop, fork suspended halfway to his open mouth. “Hiccup? Babe?” she asked, then muttered to herself, “Oh gods, I broke him.”

“You—you didn’t…” Hiccup said, putting his fork down carefully. “Astrid, are you—are you asking me if I want to move in with you?”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” she said. “Though it’s fine if you don’t want to. I haven’t told them for sure that I won’t be renewing my lease here, so that’s still an option. And if you want to wait another year, or more, that’s completely fine. I just thought I’d ask.”

Hiccup was only half-listening, his head spinning. He’d heard of athletes making sudden relationship jumps in the nerves right before a big event—but this? Did the start of her second season qualify as an event big enough to cause those kinds of nerves? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he did, but he was also acutely aware that it was still quite soon for that kind of step.

“Hiccup?” Astrid asked, and he realized suddenly that they’d both been quiet for a good fifteen seconds. It was his turn now to take a bite to give himself time to think. 

“It’s definitely moving fast,” he said. “I mean, we’ve only been together a little under five months.”

Astrid nodded. “I know. Believe me, I do. But I also know that, for me at least, it feels right. We were friends for a long time before that, and we know we get along well. I’m not saying we should get married or anything—we’re nowhere _near_ ready for that—but, I mean, you’re already over here three or four nights a week, and you’ve got a toothbrush here, and we both do laundry and dishes here, and you’ve got a drawer. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I get it, but gods, Hiccup, will you say something?”

Hiccup took a deep breath. “I like the idea,” he said slowly, and had to take another breath at the grin that spread across her face. “But I need to think about it.”

Astrid nodded, still smiling. “Of course. Take your time. If nothing else, there’s the option to go month-to-month. It’s more expensive, but with the raise I’m getting this season, I should be able to afford it.”

“When do you need to make a decision?”

“Thirty days before the lease ends.”

Hiccup nodded. “Okay.” That gave him a little over a week to think about it.

As the evening wore on, though, he found himself getting distracted by looking at apartments on his phone where Astrid couldn’t see from her position reclined against his chest on the sofa. He could tell she knew something was going on, but she didn’t ask, apparently content to let him play with her hair with his free hand and half-pay attention to the movie they were watching. 

Finally, he held his phone out so she could see it. “What do you think of this one?”

Astrid looked at the phone for a second, then twisted her head to look up at him. She picked her laptop up off the floor, opened it, and clicked on one of the tabs she hadn’t shown him before. Hiccup blinked, smiling wryly. It was the same listing he’d shown her.

“I mean, I like it,” Astrid said, grinning at him. “It’s got a loft, though, and I know stairs can be hard on your leg.”

He was puzzled for a second—he didn’t remember ever telling her that, though she was right. “That’s true,” he admitted. “But it’s not such a big deal if I’m not running up and down all the time. And I do really like having a loft. Plus there’s a place my desk could go,” he said, pointing a finger at her laptop screen, “and it’s got a dishwasher and a washer-dryer set, and it’s big enough that you could probably even have a home gym if you wanted.”

Astrid was looking at him curiously. “So… is that a yes?” she asked, not quite able to contain the smile spreading across her face. 

Hiccup felt an answering smile on his own face. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

She set down her laptop carefully, then dove on him, peppering kisses all over his face and neck and giggling. Laughing, he responded in kind, managing to land a few pecks beneath her barrage of kisses.

“Wait,” Astrid said, pushing herself up on his chest. “You guess? Because, Hiccup, if you don’t want to, we definitely—”

“No, I do,” he said. “I definitely want to.”

“You sure?” she asked, another barely-suppressed grin on her face. 

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She kissed him again, giggling in happiness, then seemed to remember something. “It’s available now,” she said. “So we’d have to get the security deposit together pretty quickly.”

“I can get the deposit,” Hiccup said.

“Really?” Astrid asked. “Just like that?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said. “I… well, I guess now is as good a time to tell you as any. You remember my grandma—my mom’s mom, the one who died a few years ago?”

Astrid nodded.

“Well, she… left me some money when she died, since my mom wasn’t there for her to leave it to. Like… not a lot, not in the grand scheme of things, but enough that I could retire a couple… decades early, if I wanted to. I don’t have access to all of it yet, but I get monthly payments, and living with my dad has meant I’ve been able to save up, both from that and the money from my job.”

Astrid had been listening, quietly, looking at him evenly from her perch on his lap. Now she nodded.

“All of which is to say that the security deposit won’t be a problem,” he said.

“Are you…” she started, then stopped. “I mean, do you _want_ to retire a couple decades early?”

“Not really,” Hiccup admitted. “I feel like I’d get bored.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, probably. I’ll pay you back.”

It wasn’t necessary, strictly speaking, but Hiccup was willing to bet it was a pride thing. He nodded. “Okay. Once you get your deposit from this place back, we’ll go halvesies.”

Astrid smiled. “Sounds good.”

“Wanna set up a viewing?” Hiccup asked. “That’s a nice place, I’m sure they’ve got a lot of people looking at it.”

Astrid’s grin widened. “Definitely,” she said, plucking the phone from Hiccup’s fingers. “Oh, Hiccup?” she said, filling out the contact form.

“Yeah?”

“We’re getting you a new desk chair too.”

He laughed. “I can live with that.”

Three weeks later, Hiccup taped up the last of the boxes in his room at his dad’s house. “Thanks again for helping me move,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Chris said. “Dad’s always glad to have an excuse for having a truck in the city, and I feel like we haven’t hung out in a long time.”

“I’m not doing that thing where I get a partner and disappear, am I?” Hiccup asked, suddenly anxious.

Chris laughed. “No, you’re good. I’ve been busy too.” He wiped his face with the hem of his t-shirt, and Hiccup’s eyes caught on the pale white scar that now bisected Chris’ left eyebrow, stark against his dark hair, the only really permanent souvenir of that day last summer on the bridge.

“Cool 3D printer,” Chris said.

“Oh, thanks. My dad got it for me for my birthday last year.”

“You mean a day approximating your birthday.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Pedant.”

“Nerd.”

They both laughed, and a moment later Chris said, “You know, if you ever want to make something bigger than that one can handle, my dad’s got one you can use.”

“Your dad has a 3D printer?” Hiccup asked skeptically—Ragnar, though certainly an accomplished engineer, wasn’t exactly on the cutting edge with a lot of things. 

Chris smiled wryly. “Yeah, I was surprised too.”

An idea had sparked in Hiccup’s mind, one he’d half-forgotten because of how long it had been since he’d worked on it. “You know,” he said, “I might just take you up on that.”

* * *

Astrid leads Hiccup along the hallway toward their new apartment, barely concealing the grin that threatens to betray her plans.

They’ve been out together all day, and though she’s tried to make him think the day is mostly over, she’s not sure how much he believes her. 

She was surprised when Hiccup agreed to let her plan his birthday, and even more so when he actually did it, without so much as a meddlesome inquiry or a surreptitious look at her phone. But then, she supposes, she shouldn’t really be surprised at him doing what he said he would. It’s what he always does. 

Now the anticipation is rolling off him as he walks behind her, so close that she can almost feel his body heat. 

When they’re at their door, she whips around, grabbing him by the shoulders, and pins him against the door with a loud thud. He looks down at her, cocking an eyebrow, and she gives him a cheeky grin before kissing him. She snags his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans—"Milady," he murmurs in mock scandal—passes them to her other hand, still kissing him, and unlocks the door, letting it swing open. He almost stumbles, just catching himself as he stares at her, wide-eyed.

The roar is deafening, especially considering that it’s coming from relatively few throats.

_”SURPRISE!!!”_

Hiccup’s eyes widen further, shock and dawning realization sparkling in his bright green eyes before they give way to delight. He turns, a wide smile spreading on his face, and sees them.

They’re all here, everyone Astrid could think of to ask, his friends, some of whom he hasn’t seen in years because they live across the country. As Hiccup makes the rounds to greet them all, he’s grinning as Astrid has only seen on precious few occasions. He hugs Snotlout first as the short, dark-haired man swaggers out from the front of the crowd. Then comes Fishlegs—whom, it turns out, Astrid _has_ met before, though very briefly and without proper introductions—and an arm each for Ruffnut and Tuffnut, and then he’s giving a surprised, pleased gasp and a soft “Hey!” as Heather throws her arms around his neck. Hiccup’s friend Chris is here as well, with a guy Astrid thinks is named Clark. 

By the time he’s hugged everyone, Hiccup is across the living room from where Astrid is still standing by the door. He turns back to her, still beaming. “You did this?”

Astrid has been smiling as she watches him, and now she feels her grin deepen. “I mean, we all did it.”

“Astrid, what have I told you about selling yourself short?”

“Nothing, Tuffnut,” she shoots back.

“It was all her idea,” Tuffnut insists. “She texted Ruffnut like a month ago, and we all decided we had to come. I mean, I _was_ the one who had to make sure they all had their shit together, but…”

Astrid stops listening as Hiccup crosses to her and wraps his arms around her. “Thank you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into her hair. “This is the best birthday present ever.”

“Well, that’s good, because I didn’t bring you anything,” Snotlout says. “Gods, you guys are gross. Hiccup, you better watch out or I’m gonna drink all the rum.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Snotface,” Hiccup says loudly, laughing as he turns to face his cousin. “You know what happened last time.”

“Last time?” Astrid asks Ruffnut.

“Hiccup’s last official birthday,” Ruffnut says. “His twentieth in ordinary reckoning. It was a night of true debauchery.”

“You remember that thing with the bobcat statue?” Tuffnut asks Astrid.

Astrid nods, wide-eyed—the Incident of the Bobcat was legendary in her dorm.

“That was us,” Ruffnut says.

“Well, it was mostly me,” Snoutout says. “But they helped.”

Hiccup rejoins their little cluster, pressing a drink into Astrid’s hand. “Thanks babe,” she says with a grin, which he returns, and then she steps into the middle of the living room. “Does everyone have a drink?” she asks.

There’s a chorus of assent.

“Excellent. If you’ll all gather round…” She waits a moment as they do so. “First of all, thank you all for coming. On this, the occasion of my boyfriend’s six birthday”—there’s a muffled groan from Hiccup’s direction—“I’m glad we’re all here to celebrate this wonderful, caring, brilliant, _sexy_ man. None of us would be who we are without him, and all of us are better for knowing him. To Hiccup!” she says, raising her glass. 

“To Hiccup!” they shout in unison—all save Hiccup himself, who is blushing furiously and failing to suppress a smile. She loops an arm around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, and barely manages to keep from spilling her drink when he wraps his arm around her waist and dips her, deepening the kiss to a chorus of cheers and wolf-whistles. Blushing herself now, Astrid steps back, laughing.

Before long, Hiccup is holding court from one side of her old loveseat, laughing and making them laugh uproariously as he and his friends catch up. Having finished her second drink, Astrid pours another for both herself and Hiccup, handing his off to him as she goes to sit on the stairs. No one else seems to notice, but Hiccup looks at her, brows furrowed, for a second, silently checking in. She smiles and raises her glass, and he responds in kind.

After a minute, Heather comes and sits down on the step below the one Astrid’s perched on. “This was honestly such an amazing idea,” she says. 

“Thanks,” Astrid says, grinning. She watches Hiccup for another moment as he nods along to something Fishlegs is saying, then doubles over, laughing. “I’ve never seen him like this,” she says. 

Heather nods sagely. “Party Hiccup is a rare beast, and seldom spotted, only really coming out once every four years. But it’s always worth the wait.”

“How many of these have you been to?” 

“All of them,” Heather says, smiling. “Stoick started doing them when Hiccup was eight, and then Hiccup took over when he turned sixteen. The one when he was twelve was amazing; he wanted a pool party, so Stoick rented this big heated tent that covered their whole backyard and even went up to the deck with their hot tub.”

“They have a pool?”

“Yeah, you haven’t—”

“No!” Hiccup says loudly, standing up from his place on the loveseat. “No way! Everyone, we need to make another toast.” He pulls Ruffnut and Fishlegs to their feet. He grabs Ruffnut’s left hand, which she has just been brandishing at him, and holds it aloft. “Was anyone gonna tell me these guys got engaged?”

“I mean—” Fishlegs begins, but Hiccup is still talking. 

“To the worthiest of men and the most chaotic of women!” he says. “Many happy years!”

“Cheers!” everyone cries, including Astrid and Heather, and Ruffnut and Fishlegs kiss to a chorus of cheers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Astrid asks Heather after Hiccup has wandered over to kiss her and then returned to the sofas. She’s not sure she’d have the courage to ask this if she weren’t three rum drinks in, but she _is_ three rum drinks in, and that’s making her brave.

“Sure,” Heather says, and despite the small smile she’s wearing, Astrid can see she’s nervous. 

“Well, you’ve known Hiccup your whole life, right?” Heather nods. “And we’ve known each other like… half a decade. More than that. And I mean, obviously he and I get along okay. So why didn’t you ever introduce us? ‘Cause we were both your… friends, at least for a little while there.”

Heather blushes. “Gods, were you two comparing notes or something?” 

Astrid laughs. “No, not exactly.”

“Well… honestly?” Heather asks, and Astrid nods. “I knew you two would hit it off when you did meet, and I didn’t think either of you would have been ready in college. You both needed some more time. And you needed to get your career going. But when you moved here, I figured it was just a matter of… well, time.”

“And you’re not… bothered by that?”

Heather laughs, though there's a trace of sadness just visible in the corner of her smile. “No, of course I’m not. You know I’m not… I’m not wired that way. I don’t think I would ever…”

Astrid nods. “I know.”

“I do miss you, though,” Heather says. “Though that’s more from only seeing you a couple times a year.”

Astrid smiles. “I miss you too.” She holds out her arms, and Heather sinks into her embrace, nestling against Astrid’s shoulder.

“He seems really happy,” Heather says, very quietly. “More than I’ve ever seen him. And you do too. I’m glad you two made up.”

Astrid looks down at her, remembering the last time they were reclined like this. It was back in Astrid’s old apartment, and Astrid was trying to explain why she was afraid to go to Hiccup and apologize. Naturally, Heather was skeptical.

They’d just been—well, never mind what they’d just been doing.

“I am too,” Astrid says, glancing back down toward the living room, where the party has relaxed significantly. Hiccup meets her eyes from where he’s been subsumed into some kind of great cuddle pile, and Astrid begins to get a better understanding of the living situation he’s told her about from college, living with Ruffnut and Tuffnut and Fishlegs and Snotlout in a house a few blocks off campus where there apparently hadn’t been too many boundaries. Chris is snuggled up between Hiccup and Clark, his dark curly head leaning on Hiccup’s shoulder. Hiccup smiles at Astrid, and she grins back. 

“I am happy,” she says to Heather. Then she stands and trots down the stairs. “All right, who wants cake?”

* * *

“You sure about this?” Hiccup asked.

He and Heather were sitting at a table in the restaurant where he’d taken Astrid their first weekend together, and where she’d later taken Heather. After the night before, he hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of a mom-osa, or even the smaller, more manageable mimosa. He was sipping on water, and though his head definitely hurt, he’d avoided the worst of the hangover he probably deserved. 

Heather nodded. “Yeah, I can do this.” 

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. They’d agreed, when he’d reached out to tell her that it turned out he knew her brother, that the next time she was in town he’d set up a meeting with her and Dagur—just a meal, nothing too involved. Hiccup had been surprised that Dagur was available on such short notice, but here they were.

A sharp intake of breath from Heather made Hiccup look up at the door, where Dagur had just walked in. He spotted them at once and approached their table slowly, more cautious than Hiccup thought he’d ever seen him. Hiccup was relieved he didn’t go for the hug, instead holding out his hand for Heather to shake.

They all sat down, and Heather and Dagur started talking. It was awkward at first, because of course it was, with their history, but as they slowly realized they had more in common than just a father, they both relaxed. Hiccup let himself zone out a bit; he was really just there for moral support, and the introduction of Dagur’s louder tones was starting to make his headache worse.

His attention was pulled back to them, though, when Dagur pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket. “Oh, shit, I’d better take this,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but I’m working with the District Attorney’s office on something.”

“No, that’s fine,” Heather said. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Standing, Dagur answered his phone as he walked away. “Talk to me, Throk.”

“You doing okay?” Hiccup asked, and Heather nodded.

“Yeah. Still nervous, but not as bad.”

By the time Dagur got back, their food had arrived, and that made things easier, both for the conversation and for Hiccup’s headache. They’d just about finished eating when Dagur took a long pull from his drink, growing more serious now. 

“I, uh, I wanted to say I’m sorry, Heather,” Dagur said. “I know what I did when we were kids was wrong, incredibly so, and I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m glad we’re getting to talk.”

It was the most sincere Hiccup had ever seen Dagur. 

Heather only nodded. “Yeah, I know, Dagur. Me too. Thanks.”

She was shaken as they started the walk back. Hiccup gave her a few blocks of quiet before he asked again, “You okay?”

Heather nodded. “Yeah, I—I’m glad I got to talk to him. Meet him, really. Thanks, Hiccup.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hiccup said. She was still looking down, not meeting his eyes. “Hey, I was planning on going back to Astrid’s old place before the Valkyries party tonight,” he said. “We’re trying to finish getting her moved out. Want to come with?”

She finally looked at him, nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

* * *

It’s obvious, when Astrid opens the door to let in Heather and Hiccup, that they’re not going to be getting any moving done today.

Seeing Heather’s wide, staring eyes and the brittle way she’s holding herself, Astrid takes her arm and almost automatically leads her upstairs to the loft, where her old bed is still standing. She gets Heather settled in, blankets pulled up under her chin, before she looks around and realizes Hiccup isn’t with them. The sound of running water comes from the kitchen downstairs, and she realizes he’s down there still. 

Astrid gives Heather a questioning look, and Heather nods. Astrid goes back downstairs, finding Hiccup leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a big plastic cup full of water.

“She okay?” he asks. 

Astrid nods. “At least, she will be. How’s your head?”

“Better by the second.” He takes another swallow of water. “Do you want me to take off?”

Astrid furrowed her eyebrows, confused. She searches his face, but he doesn’t look upset, or like he’s trying specifically not to look upset. He’s just concerned. “No, why—”

“I was thinking she might be more open to talking if it’s just you.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ve seen this before. This isn’t a talking mood. She needs tea and quiet and cuddles.”

Hiccup smiles. “Well, if you wanna get started on the cuddles, I’ll make some tea.”

Astrid cups the side of his face. “Thanks, babe.” It’s thanks for more than just the tea—thanks for helping their friend, for giving Heather the chance to reconnect with Dagur, for not being weird about her cuddling with the closest thing she has to an ex. And as he takes her hand and kisses her palm, she sees in his face that he recognizes that.

And she loves him for it.

* * *

Hiccup swallowed hard, trying to push down his nerves. 

The Valkyries’ start-of-season party was being held at the same downtown art gallery as last year—it was _always_ at that same gallery—and, standing outside, Hiccup could already hear the music. There was a key difference, though: this year, Stoick had elected not to go with a masquerade theme, apparently deciding that the novelty wasn’t worth someone making out with someone they weren’t supposed to because they didn’t realize who they were.

Hiccup figured that was probably fair. 

The other difference, of course, was that this year Hiccup wasn’t there in whatever semi-official capacity he’d had last year as the owner’s son. He was there as Astrid’s date. _Just_ Astrid’s date.

She came up behind him and took his hand, having scootched out of the backseat of their rideshare after him. He turned to look at her.

She was stunning, of course, dressed in a flowy blue dress with thin straps that showed off her toned shoulders and triangular panels of gold fabric at the front and back of the bodice. There was more gold in the skirt, though it only really showed when she moved. As it would while she was dancing, as she’d informed him they would be doing at least a little this evening. Heather had helped her braid her hair into an elegant bun on top of her head. 

Hiccup had stared when she’d come out of the bathroom, saying she was ready, and he did so again now. 

“What?” Astrid asked, smiling nervously.

Hiccup gulped. “You just look really lovely.”

She grinned. “Thanks. You ready?” 

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Hofferson!” a voice calls. “Hey, Astrid!”

Astrid turns to see the woman who’s jogging toward her down the hallway outside the locker room. “Hey, Rachel,” she says warily. “How’s it going?”

“I’m pretty good,” Rachel says. “How’s physical therapy?” 

“It’s going okay,” Astrid says. She’s looking for some sign that Rachel’s trying to antagonize her, but she can’t find anything. Rachel looks awkward, of course, but then Astrid probably does too.

“I was sorry to hear you won’t be playing the first few games,” Rachel says, and this would be a _perfect_ opportunity to make a dig at Astrid, but she sounds sincere.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s like I said, you’re a good player.”

“Thanks,” Astrid says cautiously. “Hey, I heard you did Christmas in Mexico. How was that?”

“New Year’s too,” Rachel says. “It was a lot of fun.”

“Good, I’m glad.” 

“Yeah.” Rachel nods. “Well, see you around.”

And she jogs off again, leaving Astrid wondering what the fuck _that_ was about.

* * *

Hiccup woke up to the sound of the front door opening. Yawning, he pushed himself up on his elbows where he was lying on the couch to see Astrid coming in, still sweaty and panting from the run she’d just come back from. 

“Hey, babe,” she said, a touch breathlessly. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, rubbing his eyes. “Why didn’t you have me come with you?” She’d been doing so lately, claiming that it was helpful to have someone to train as she was getting back into the swing of running. 

“Sorry,” she said, grinning guiltily. “But I wanted to go fast. And you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Something seemed off, though Hiccup wasn’t sure what it was until he remembered that this was the day she was supposed to hear back about when she’d be able to start practice. Of course she wanted to go fast—she was nervous.

“Have you heard anything?” he asked.

She didn’t ask what he meant. “No, not yet.”

“I’m sure they’ll call you soon.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah.” She paused. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

“Or you could come here.”

Now she looked at him. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, smiling. “Let me take your mind off it for a minute.”

Astrid laughed. “Hiccup, I’m all gross and sweaty.”

“Sweaty, yes. Gross?” He ran his eyes up and down her body. “Never.”

Grinning, Astrid walked over to him. “I mean, I guess I’d have to shower again anyway.”

Hiccup nodded, sitting up. “No point in wasting a shower.”

She knelt on the couch cushions, straddling him, and lowered her face to his as he reached up to loosen her braid.

* * *

“Oh my gods, it’s fucking _snowing.”_

Hiccup’s voice is equal parts appalled and full of wonder.

Astrid cracks one eyelid open and looks out the window, where she can indeed see fat, fluffy flakes of snow falling through the air of the alley outside. “It’s not gonna stick,” she mumbles. “‘Stoo warm.” She closes her eyes again and snuggles back down into the covers. 

A couple minutes later, Hiccup rouses her again by poking her shoulder. “Astrid, I think it is actually sticking,” he says. “Look at the roof next door.”

Astrid opens both eyes this time. “It’s not sticking, babe. It’s just taking a couple seconds to melt.”

“We may have to cancel our plans and stay in,” Hiccup says teasingly. “Maybe make hot cocoa and watch movies.”

“No, we’ll just wait for it to warm up a little.”

“I thought you said it was too warm.”

Astrid giggles. “Yeah, for snow, not for city boys who try to wimp out at the first sign of bad weather.”

Hiccup doesn’t respond to the barb, only looking out at the snow, a small smile on his face. Astrid finds herself looking up at him where he’s leaned on one elbow above her, watching the wonder paint itself across his face.

It almost makes her wish that she could draw, just so that she could capture this expression. 

They stay like that for several minutes. Hiccup slips an arm around Astrid’s waist and presses a kiss to her temple when he notices her looking at him. 

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.” 

He kisses her and goes back to watching the snow.

Astrid keeps her eyes on him, smiling slightly at the feelings rising up in her, like bubbles hitting the surface of a hot spring and bursting into steam. 

She loves him so much—his intelligence, his humor, the way he both understands the world and wonders at it. He’s the most amazing person she’s ever met, she thinks, and she knows she wouldn’t be anywhere as happy as she is now without him.

She didn’t think, even a year ago, that she _could_ be this happy.

But she is.

The spell is broken when Hiccup’s phone buzzes on his nightstand, and he rolls over to see who it is, letting go of her waist as he does. 

“Oh damn,” he says. “I forgot I told my dad I’d come over for lunch. Mind if I head out?”

“Go ahead,” Astrid says. He gets out of bed and starts getting dressed, turning back when she says his name. “Meet me at the Falls?”

He nods, smiling that toothy, lopsided grin she loves so much. “See you there.”

* * *

She was waiting for him on the bridge.

He saw her as soon as he turned the corner, standing almost exactly on the spot where he’d waited for her just over a year ago, a fleece vest her only concession to the undeniably chilly breeze that was keeping most hikers off the trail. 

Her face lit up when she saw him, her cheeks already pink from the cold. 

He’d thought she was his doom. He’d seen her the morning after they’d met, hungover and stressed and catastrophizing, had recognized her by the flash in her eyes and the mark he’d left on her neck, and hadn’t been able to see how any of it could end well. 

He’d been so wrong. 

Hiccup didn’t believe in dooms, not really, or fate, or even gods, much as he called on them in vain. But he knew, now, looking at Astrid, that whatever else his life was going to be, he wanted it to be with her.

And so he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are. I hope you liked the montage-style epilogue; it's how I've been imagining the ending for a long time, and hopefully the tense changes weren't too jarring. 
> 
> As always, feedback is very much welcome and appreciated.
> 
> I'm not sure what comes next; now that I've proven to myself that I can write something the length of a novel in approximately four months, I think I'll take a couple weeks to chill and write a one-shot or two. As far as City of Bridges goes, I do have a couple spin-off one-shots that are currently in pre-development, one of which could potentially turn into a short chaptered fic. I suppose we'll see this time next week.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it <3


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